


Eros

by AquaWolfGirl



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: ALL SEXUAL ACTS ARE CONSENSUAL, Ancient World AU, Capture, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Little bit of angst, M/M, Multi, Not Particularly Historically Accurate Because Rey Gets A Sword But Hey, Polyamory, Violence in future chapters, ancient greek au, ancient rome au, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:43:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 82,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8586019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaWolfGirl/pseuds/AquaWolfGirl
Summary: She's never stepped foot off of the small, isolated island of Jakku. She's never considered leaving, never once thought about stepping off the shores to visit the mainland. She never thought about attacks, about the Empire ruling just beyond the waves, about the Emperor and his soldiers. She didn't even think, not about the Emperor or his cruelty or his consort back on the mainland who has no idea he's about to befriend a woman who's never known a world outside of marble columns and an old statue.





	1. I.

The island of Jakku is a small, dull little thing. If seen from the mainland, it’s not much more than an overly large sandbar with a cluster of buildings desperately built upon it - a pathetic excuse for a town. Traders only occasionally stumble upon the sand before they reach the mainland, leaving the people rowing towards the shore for work and supplies.

It’s only redeemable quality, if it can even be declared as such, is the marble temple settled where the sand is highest.

It’s rare that someone would arrive on the shores of Jakku for anything else; its people are not entirely welcoming, the land not plentiful and they have no produce or craft to their name. They do, though, have the temple.

The temple that is currently being meticulously cleaned by its one and only attendant.

The wet cloth slaps noisily against the stone as she leans over in the sun, wiping at the flat of the stone and the crease between the step she’s kneeling on and the one above. Rey knows that with sand comes dust, and plenty of it gathers on the steps of the temple. If left for too long, it becomes a hazard. She’s seen more than one small child slip on the sand-covered steps, unaware of the danger. So she cleans and wipes, every third sunrise, to keep the temple clean and safe for its few worshippers.

The statue of Aphrodite needs to be cleaned as well, she thinks. And she’ll clean it, just as she’s done every day since she became the sole servant to the goddess at the age of ten. 

She casts a glance towards the path, looking through the columns towards the orange horizon. The sun is not yet hot on her back as she does her cleaning, too low in the sky for heat but high enough to illuminate the world around her. She knows from years of this practice that if she works steadily, she’ll be finished the front porch by mid-morning.

She wipes the sand from the step she’s sitting on before dipping the cleaning cloth back into the bowl of water.

It’s too early for other activity. Most of the islands inhabitants work when the sun is high and the prospect of visitors higher, so she frowns as she hears yelling down near town. 

Sound rarely carries up to her, so whoever is yelling must be truly distressed. She sets the cloth in the bowl and stands, brushing sand from her simple tunic, squinting in the morning sun as a man rushes towards her. He gets too close too quickly, and she takes a hesitant step back up the steps, nearly tripping over herself. He follows her up, much to her discomfort. The man, a small man with a pinched face and greasy hair, is unfamiliar to her, his hands large and rough as they grab at her forearms. She wrenches herself backwards, almost slipping on the slick steps and tumbling to the stone. “I-“ she starts in protest.

“They’re coming.” If she hadn’t been able to smell the wine on his being before, she certainly is able now. A worshipper of Dionysus, it seemed, she thinks as he stares at her, eyes wide and fearful. “They’re coming, you have to hide!” It’s in sloppy Latin, his slurred words an ugly cross between her known Greek and his language. 

“Whom?” she demands in her own tongue as she struggles from him. “Who is coming?”

“The Emperor,” he breathes, and she winces again at the smell of his breath, sharp and sour and foul. He stumbles backwards from her, hands releasing his grip on her arms before he turns and runs back down the hill, leaving her shocked still on the temple steps.

The Emperor?

She’s not so ignorant nor as oblivious as Jakku’s people seem to think. Despite being the attendant of the temple, she does walk down to the docks and hear things. She’s heard of the Emperor, a dark-haired man whose skin rejects the browning of the sun. She’d scoffed at his name at first – Ren, simple enough to be sung or snapped. Rumor has it he thinks himself the greatest man, worthy enough to be a god. What man thinks he’s equal with the gods? Surely he’ll be struck down by Zeus soon, in the span between one breath and the next, for all people knew the greatest god can’t handle someone whose ego is greater than his own.

She stands, brushing herself off and adjusting the leather belt around her waist before returning to cleaning the steps. She’s an attendant – the sole one at that, and she can’t stop serving her goddess regardless of what some drunk says. She won’t pay any mind to any Emperor, regardless of how important he thinks he is.

Rey’s halfway up the steps, the sun just a bit higher in the blue sky, when noise starts up again. She nearly ignores it, and probably would have if she hadn’t heard screams or seen the smoke starting to curl into the sky.

She stands and trips backwards, landing on her backside against the marble. She can see figures on their way up. They didn’t look like regular worshippers, most people taking their time on the way to the temple. No, these figures … marched?

Soldiers. They've never had soldiers, before. But she knows from the stories of traders and travelers that soldiers bring violence and destruction. 

_No, not here..._

She scrambles backwards and rushes into the temple, grabbing the oil that was burning and shoving it into the ashes. She extinguishes the fires she’d lit earlier that morning in an attempt to give the impression that it's abandoned, an empty space with no inhabitants.

It’s only when she’s extinguished the last one that she realizes that she’d left her bowl and cloth on the front steps, in plain view of the Emperor and his men.

She nearly curses, rushing back towards the small alcove she’d claimed as her own since she was a child, in hopes that it would now play the part of a hiding space until the men moved on.

She should’ve known it was foolish to attempt.

She moves around the corner, and comes face to face with a figure in the Empire’s armor. Her shriek echoes along the marble surfaces of the temple, and she stumbles back. She trips over her own tunic and goes tumbling to the floor, hitting the stone painfully. She knocks her elbow against the floor, pain flaring up her arm and teeth grinding down as a result. The figure steps forward, looming over her, and she swears she can hear her heartbeat roaring in her ears over the harsh sounds of fighting that come up from the town below.

Her Latin is weak, at best, visitors not staying long enough to teach her and those who live on the island too engrossed in themselves to instruct her. So her mind reels as the soldier barks orders, voice deep. She struggles to her feet the moment he turns back to look towards one of his men, and runs in the opposite direction, towards the back of the temple.

She doesn’t get far. She regrets the length of her worn tunic as he chases after her, his foot landing on the fabric and yanking her back into him. She can feel the cold press of his armor against her bare back, and straightens in fear as his sword comes around to press against her throat. 

He speaks again, and she swallows. “I don’t know,” she hisses in her own language. She can feel his chuckle, chest rattling the metal she’s been forced back against.

“What is your name?” he demands, this time in Greek.

“My name does not matter,” she snaps.

He hums, lowering the sword minutely. His foot is still holding her prisoner in his arms, and she remains shocked still as he turns his head and speaks another order to his men. 

Her Latin may be weak, but she understands the word ‘kill’ well enough.

“Why do you do this?” she breathes, eyes on the blade that doesn’t so much as shake in his grip, sure and steady against her throat. 

“Your people do not contribute to the Empire,” he insists. “They offer no payment for the land, and while they cater to traders they do not declare their interactions with them."

“I can give you payment,” she says hurriedly. “I can pay for them.”

There’s a pause, long and deep. She can hear her shaky breath in the silence of the temple, can just barely hear the sound of screams and metal meeting metal beyond the columns.

She nearly gasps as his hand grabs at her upper arm, the sword fully falling from her throat and returning to its sheath. She’s given half a moment to breathe before she’s being dragged across the stone floor as he moves to the front at the temple, turning towards a tall figure in armor with a red tunic. The soldier holding her speaks too quickly; she doesn’t have the time to decipher it, to try and pick out words that she knows. Instead she’s left waiting as the man in red hesitates, then nods and walks off, yelling orders to the other men in armor as he goes.

She’s tugged forward, his grip on her arm too strong to break free from – though she does try, desperately, nails clawing at his hand in an attempt to free herself. “No!”

They stop suddenly, and she nearly trips into him. He turns and looks down at her, and she can see his face for the first time. Her breath catches in her throat. His eyes are dark, face pale and cheekbones high; she sees a prominent nose and full lips, as well. He isn’t frowning at her, but his gaze is hard, and she stops trying to pull from his grip. He would be handsome, if he’d come in a merchant’s ship instead of on a war boat, she thinks. “You said you would pay,” he tells her. “Would you give yourself for the Emperor to save your people?”

She lets herself cast a glance back towards the temple. It’s a choice; a simple one, really, though her heart aches to make it. 

Though, wasn’t this an act of love? There is love for one’s lover, one’s neighbor, one’s children and one’s parents. Though she didn’t have much affection for the people of the island, she could say that she loved a few, and loved the idea of it remaining the way it was. She would not be turning her back on the goddess, no - she would be making a sacrifice in the name of her. 

She turns back towards the solider and nods. “Yes,” she informs him.

“Swear to it.” 

“I swear on my goddess, Aphrodite, to give myself for my people,” she says, the words spilling from her lips so quickly that they’re barely words at all. He seems to understand, though, and nods his helmed head, and then she’s being pulled along again, down the street and away from her home. She casts one more glance back at the temple before she’s yanked forward, pushed in front of the solider and forced to walk.

-

She’s never stepped foot off of Jakku before. Her place was in the temple, not on the mainland. The idea of a ship is incredibly familiar with how many seafarers and merchants stumble upon their shores before they reach the mainland, but she’s never been on a ship herself. Too distracted by seeing the sails and oars up close, she nearly trips over an uneven plank onto the deck. The soldier’s hands on her aren’t exactly gentle, but he does right her and keep her from falling. “Careful,” he warns, voice almost dulcet. She offers him no response, instead letting herself be led to the top deck. 

The men have been assembled below, though a few are staggering on with blood on their armor and weapons. Rey avoids looking at them, instead turning her head towards the other side of the deck. The man she’d seen with the red tunic is ordering the soldiers in Latin. She doesn’t know these words; they’re words of war, not wares. She watches for a few more moments before turning to the man who is holding her, his hands still tight on her upper arms. 

“Are you not to go below deck?” she asks in Greek, frowning up at him. Surely there was a spot for him, an empty seat with an assigned oar. 

“No,” he says simply in her language, and nods for her to face forward. 

She does so reluctantly, looking past the bow and towards the beaches of the island. There are people gathered there, mothers with children huddled close and men with their arms around the mothers. She resists the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. There is blood splattered on the sand, and she’d seen plenty in the streets on the way to her fate, but there are a good number of people gathered on the shore to watch the soldiers leave. Not too many had been slaughtered. She thanks the gods, muttering softly under her breath and promising to give proper thanks later. 

She can feel the soldier behind her shift behind her, armor rustling and clanking as he moves. She straightens her back as his grip tightens slightly when the red-tuniced man barks another order. 

“Where is the Emperor?” she demands, narrowing her eyes against the bright sun in search of the man himself. 

“On the mainland,” her captor replies simply in her language. 

She looks up in surprise, meeting his dark eyes. He looks amused, smirk slight as he looks down at her. “He is not here?” 

“You think he would waste his time with this pathetic little island?” the man asks, though his tone isn’t as mocking as she’d expected for it to be. “No, he is in his palace, waiting for our return.” 

She stares up at the man for another moment, before the ship is pushed from shore with a lurch. She yelps audibly as she jerks forward, her balance failing her as soon as the ship moves from the shore and starts to rock. The soldier behind her had been expecting it, it seems, but she had not. He jerks her back against him, and she hisses at the cold metal of his armor on the bare skin of her shoulders and back. 

“Watch yourself,” he mutters as she regains her balance. 

She wants desperately to turn and scowl at him, but it wouldn’t do her any favors, so instead she looks straight ahead towards the land of green.

-

She shivers in the sea breeze as they reach the port. The man’s hands are warm on her upper arms, but she desperately wishes she had something aside from her thin, wash-worn tunic and wraps to cover herself. As soon as the ship is tied down, she’s being pushed off ahead of the men. The soldier still holds her and guides her through the crowds of people. The population of the Empire pay them no mind, and Rey realizes with a lurch of horror that a soldier gripping a woman and forcing her with him wouldn’t exactly be a rare sight. It makes her sick to her stomach, and she feels nearly ill as the soldier yells something in Latin. She recognizes ‘horse’, briefly. 

The boat is still here, and there are others. No one seems to be paying any attention to the girl being held by a soldier, and she bites her lip as she moves her arm slightly, relieved when he doesn’t tighten his grip. Perhaps there’s a chance, then …

She sees a flash of red out of the corner of her eye, and turns away from the soldier’s hands to see the superior officer in red moving towards them. Her soldier straightens slightly at the sight of him, and she’s shifted slightly so that he stands in front of her. 

The superior’s voice is sharp and demanding. She can’t make a single word out, but is startled when her soldier answers in the same tone. It’s a short exchange, each word venomous and severe in its execution. The other man turns after a moment of silence and starts walking back towards the ship, where soldiers are coming off with the spoils of their ransacking. 

His grip has loosened slightly in the time he spent talking to the other man, and she’s still pushed behind him. Heart racing, she takes advantage of his looking the other way and twists suddenly, breaking from his hands and rushing to the left. She dodges his immediate attempt to grab her, trying to slip into the throng of people and disappear. 

She gets maybe ten steps before there are hands around her waist and she’s being yanked backwards. She grunts and kicks, like she did when she was little in the small marketplace of Jakku. It worked, then; her kicks and squirming aren’t helping her now, not at all. His arms are firm around her, and Rey’s carried back to an open carriage. His arms aren’t quite low enough to bite at, and she tries to claw at him, but he sets her down on her feet and grips at her forearms, holding her steady on the floor of the carriage. 

“I thought you swore to give yourself for your people,” he says, tone amused and a bit snarky.

“And you thought I’d go willingly,” Rey snarls, trying to look back at him and failing, only getting an eyeful of his bronze chest plate.  
She startled slightly when he lets go of her arms and moves behind her, his hands guiding hers to rest on the edge of the structure and curling her fingers around the lip of it. “Hold on,” he tells her, his arms caging her in. Unless she ducks and – no, there’s not enough room for that.

“What did he ask you?” she questions, voice a growl. “The red man.”

“The General,” the soldier replies swiftly as he reaches for the reins. He snaps them and the horse starts to walk through the streets, civilians parting wordlessly for the soldier and his captive.

“He was asking if you were mine,” he replies simply, voice sounding hollow and strange. She hates to hear her language like that, deep and echoing and not at all beautiful like it should be. 

“Am I?” she demands, but he says nothing as he continues to guide the carriage through the streets, leaving her with her own thoughts and fears to dwell on. 

-

It’s nicer than Jakku, she notices as they ride. There are more people. Everything’s significantly cleaner than her little hovel of a home, the temple having been the only thing cleaned regularly thanks to her duties. 

Rey stills, eyes widening as they come to the palace. It’s a huge, sprawling thing of stone, columns and archways aplenty. People are moving in and out of archways and doors like water, a constant flow of activity. There’s a young man there to take the reins when they come to a stop, and then her upper arm is being grabbed and she’s being tugged through the palace. Her bare feet slap painfully against the stone pathways as the soldier forces her forward, and she winces as his grip on her tightens as more people pass. 

There are steps leading up into the main courtyard, and she’s dragged up them and taken to the right almost immediately. The soldier barks something in his own language, and a man comes up in the short span of a heartbeat, skin darker than Rey’s ever seen, body broad and strong. He wears the same armor but lacks the helmet, the knife at his side significantly shorter than the soldier’s blade. 

The soldier holding her mutters something short and harsh, and then pushes her towards the other man. She steps forward as the man reaches to take her, hands significantly gentler than the soldier’s.

What follows the exchange is a slew of what she can only assume are orders, the taller soldier spewing words she doesn’t know. But the other man knows, apparently, as he nods and then she’s being guided away to the left, through a pair of doors, and down a long hallway illuminated by the sunlight. Whatever materials they’d used in the mosaics on the floor sparkle, and she finds herself staring down at it – the bits of metal and shell and glass that depict some sort of floral design, intricate and beautiful. There was nothing like this on Jakku; the only thing that sparkled was the sea. 

This soldier’s touch is lighter, kinder. He pushes her along, yes, but it’s at her own speed. He’s merely her guide towards where she’s supposed to go, it seems. He lets her dawdle, lets her gaze down at the bits of mosaic between her bare toes before moving her onward. She likes him more, she decides. Perhaps he’ll let her go if she’s kind to him, and clever enough.

“Where am I going?” she asks, glancing towards the soldier. She asks it first in her own tongue, and then broken Latin. 

“The Emperor’s rooms,” he says, surprisingly, in her own language. She’s shocked but comforted by the familiarity as he guides her down the hallway. People pass for them, and unlike in the streets, they stare at her as the soldier takes her down the corridor. 

His touch is warm on her upper arm as he stops in front of a set of doors. He pushes them open and gestures her through. 

She steps into the small atrium that comes before the chambers, and he follows her. Before her is a set of rooms. She can see to the left a room with a private bath, the sunken basin not filled with water but large in its size. There’s a sitting area directly in front of her, with couches and chairs and cushions and tables holding fruit of the mainland. She assumes that the Emperor sleeps somewhere, in one of the rooms she can’t see into due to the curtains covering the entrance. There are doors leading out what looks to be a private courtyard, and her heart drops when she sees that there are guards at each door, speaking casually in Latin and paying no mind to her or the gentle soldier. No escape, then. 

“He will be back soon,” the soldier tells her, as if it’s supposed to be reassuring. “He needs to speak to the men. He said to make yourself at home.” 

She frowns, turning to him. She can only recall the other soldier speaking to him, not the Emperor. But perhaps the soldier spoke for the Emperor.   
“Thank you,” she says, voice softer than she’d intended. 

“He’ll come out to help you,” the soldier explains, though his emphasis on the he’ll has her wondering to whom he’s referring, because he hadn’t referred to the Emperor like that. 

“Who?” Rey asks, turning to look at him, but the kind soldier’s already leaving, disappearing through the door they’d stepped through only moments before. 

She watches him go before turning back to the room. She steps down into the sitting area, reaching for a grape from the bowl. She plucks off the firm piece of fruit and slips it between her lips, biting down and humming at the sweet-tart juice that explodes on her tongue. She hadn’t eaten that morning; if he hadn’t taken her, she would’ve eaten after the stairs gleamed. She frowns, longing for the simple bread and fruit paste that she would’ve had.

There’s the sound of a door opening and closing, and her eyes widen as she looks in the direction of the noise. It’s coming from one of the curtained rooms, and she stops, another grape halfway to her mouth. She straightens, keeping it clenched in her fist as she watches the thinly woven curtains sway in the soft breeze. 

A man’s voice reaches her ears from beyond the thin cloth. Deep and dulcet, low and almost too soft to hear. Latin, again. She watches as a dark shadow, tall and broad and armored, walks across the archway and out of sight.

Another voice. Slightly rougher, slightly higher pitched but still very male. She can see the form of another man, shorter, as said man walks across the room in the same direction as the other, disappearing as well.

Their voices are still soft, and she can hear the clanking of metal, the sound of a bottle as the cork is yanked from its confines. She waits, seeing soft shadows beyond the curtains. She can only assume that it’s the Emperor, and someone else. 

The voices escalate quickly, in the language she doesn’t know entirely. She can make out ‘fool’ and the name of her goddess in the foreign tongue, but that’s about it. The angry voice is the higher of the two, and she watches, hands clenching and fingernails digging into the meat of her palm. Her breath feels short as the man exclaims again, the deeper voice replying immediately after, short and curt. The other man argues back, and she can see through the curtain as the shorter man steps forward. She can just barely see his shadow through the fabric, but she can see when the taller man joins him. There are hands gesticulating, the shorter man’s head turning this way and that, and she startles as there’s a yell from him, quick but loud.

Rey scrambles backwards at the sudden sound, heels knocking into a clay urn. She whirls, back to the archway just as the container topples over. The decorated red vessel falls and cracks into large pieces, and her hand flies to her mouth at both the loudness of her mistake and the mess she’d made. She stumbles backwards in an attempt to stop from making it worse, and nearly trips. In the panic that follows, she doesn’t notice the shorter man slipping between the curtains, doesn’t see him walk towards her as her bare foot slips on cool marble. It’s the hand on her elbow and the other on the small of her back that keep her from completely falling. 

“Easy,” a man says in Greek, voice soothing. “Easy, you’re all right.” 

She recognizes the shorter man’s voice from the next room over, and her head whips around as she tries to look over her shoulder at him.

His touch is as gentle as the kind soldier’s, but any touch is unwelcome in this unwelcome place, and she whirls back again, nearly stepping into the broken shards of the clay urn. 

He grabs her wrist and tugs her into him, away from the mess. “Careful,” he warns, voice just a smidge harsher in warning. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Out of an instinct long buried beneath years of tending the temple, she lashes out. Her hand grabs at his wrist and she digs her nails in, and she stomps on his foot to hear him curse in her native tongue. His grip on her loosens and she nearly stumbles back again until he pulls her back again, brow furrowed.

“I told you to be careful,” he growls, though it’s not unkind. It’s, again, in warning of her hurting herself. She’s still standing on his foot and she slides off, their legs almost entwined as he pulls her away from the destruction.

“Who are you?” It comes out a lot harsher than she’d intended, and she almost regrets it before she remembers that she’s here not because of her own will, but because some soldier decided she’d make a pretty pet for the Emperor. She yanks herself back from the man, taking in the outfit he’s wearing. 

He’s the Emperor’s consort, she realizes, eyes widening.

A chiseled face, youth still barely clinging to his cheeks but moreso clinging to his eyes, laughter showing in the lines around them. His hair’s dark and curled, the slightest hint of hair along his chin and jaw visible. He’s wearing a simple tunic, but she can tell that the fabric is finer and more expensive than anything she’s ever seen, let alone touched or worn. Her fingers itch to reach out to stroke, to feel, but she clenches them into fists by her side instead, heartbeat roaring in her ears.

“You belong to him,” she blurts, answering her own question as he has yet to. 

“Yes,” he replies simply. “As he belongs to me.” His smile’s kinder than she would’ve expected from someone who now has to share his or her position – if he hasn’t had to share it already. “And as you belong to him, he belongs to you as well.” 

“It doesn’t work like that,” she hisses. “One of the soldiers took me, I gave myself to-“ 

“To save your people, he told me,” the man replies. “He also told me to clean you up, and take care of you for when he returns.” 

“When will that be?” 

The man shrugs. “I never know with him. He returns when he wishes and leaves when he wishes. It’s an annoyance, at times.” 

She stares at him, blinking in surprise at his tender tone. “… you speak of him lovingly.” It sounds almost accusatory as she narrows her eyes.

“Of course,” the man replies simply. “I love him.” 

“Is that permitted?” she questions, frowning.

“Of course it’s permitted,” he says with a snort that’s not unkind. 

The logic to her is still incredibly flawed, but she steps back as far as she can without cutting her bare feet on the broken urn behind her. She can see the carved figures, the glossed surface. “I-I’m sorry,” she mumbles, glancing down at the mess she’d made. 

“Can be bought again,” the man explains. He smiles at her, then, and it’s warmer than anything she’s ever known. Warmer than, perhaps, the sun that beat down on her shoulders as she washed the steps, as she walked into town for more oil and wicks, for more flowers from the market. She decides she likes his smile. She can’t decide whether she likes him quite yet. 

“I’m Poe,” he offers. 

“Rey,” she says softly. 

“It’s a pleasure,” he tells her, smile broadening into a grin. 

It’s not just his smile that’s warm. It’s his eyes, his touch, the way he holds her to him. She lets him step back, lets him take her hand even though she wants to wrench it away, unused to being touched kindly or otherwise. 

“Where are you from?”

“Jakku,” she explains, though from his tone of voice she can tell that he already knows the answer. She wonders just how much the Emperor had told him about her. Surely there wasn’t much to tell, if he took information from his soldier; she was the attendant to the temple of Aphrodite on Jakku, that’s all there is to her. An orphan. A servant to the goddess and that was all. 

“You tended the old temple, is that right?” Poe asks, squeezing her hand in what she assumes is a gesture of comfort. 

“That’s right,” she replies. This is the longest she’s spoken to someone in years, most visitors to the temple paying more attention to their tributes to the goddess instead of the goddess’s attendant. It’s strange, though she’s incredibly grateful that he speaks her own language as well as Latin, as she’d heard. 

“Attendant to the goddess.”

“Yes,” she replies. 

His grin broadens. “Funny.” 

“How so?” 

“Attendant to the goddess of love, and I’m fairly sure that the Emperor’s halfway in love with you already.” 

“Impossible,” she protests.

“He thought your actions regarding your sacrifice for your people heroic,” he explains. “Something of the stories.” 

“I love my people,” Rey insists, brow furrowing as she looks up at the man. “It was an act in the name of the goddess.” 

“And he admires you for it.” She freezes as Poe squeezes her hand again. “Come. I have orders to clean you up.”

“I did bathe yesterday,” she objects as he lets go of her small fingers.

“Jakku is an island of dust and sand and salt water.” He reaches up and brushes his thumb along her cheek, still grinning. “Little dust rat. Let’s see how much we can get off, shall we?” 

Rey frowns, putting her fingers to her cheek as he turns and walks towards the room with the tub. She follows him, and stares as she realizes that the tub is already full. A quick glance around the room reveals a door she hadn’t been able to see when she walked into the main area, and she hesitates as he draws the curtains leading outside closed. They’re light enough that they dim the sun but still allow it to shine through and illuminate the room, and she watches as he starts to pull small bottles of what she assumes are oils.

“We’ll have your clothing washed, if you’d like,” he offers, nodding to her long, plain tunic, the wraps she wears to keep her skin protected from the sun as she cleans the temple, and crude leather belt.

“The Emperor can see me as I am,” she insists, voice snappish. “If he wants me, then he will see me as I was brought to him.”

Poe stares at her from where he’s bent over, collecting jars of some sort and setting them along the edge of the sunken tub. “… if you’d like to meet the Emperor with dirty, dusty feet, go ahead.” He sounds amused, smirking a bit as he nods to her toes.

She pulls the bottom of her peplos up slightly as her eyes dart down to her feet, noticing how black they are from being hauled through her town, onto the ship and through the streets and the palace. “I don’t mind. He shouldn’t either,” she mutters, brow furrowed as she looks back up towards the Emperor’s male consort.

Poe shrugs. “Did you have a bathhouse on Jakku?” he questions.

“I told you I did bathe,” she insists, scowling in his direction as he straightens and watches her. 

“All right,” he says, nodding towards the jars and strigil near his feet. “There is oil here. He asked me to help you, but if you’d rather a woman I can call for someone to assist you.”

“I don’t want to bathe at all,” she mutters, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort as she focuses her gaze on his feet, avoiding his eyes. “I want to go back to Jakku.” 

The cruel reality of her situation comes crashing down on her, and she can feel the prick of tears behind her eyes as she bites her lip. When she feels the first hot tear on her cheek, she wipes it away harshly with her palm. Another comes just as quickly, and she wipes that one away too.   
Rey can hear him as he walks towards her, but she steps back from him, shaking her head. _“Don’t touch me!”_

It comes out as a near shout, and though her vision’s blurred from her tears she can see him stop just a few steps from her. Good. Let him stay away. Let him stop. 

“I don’t-“ he starts, but she interrupts him directly after. 

“I want to go back,” she spits, glaring up at him.

He’s quiet, and she watches as he sighs and rakes a hand through the dark curls on his head. He puts one hand on his hip, letting out a slow breath through his lips, cheeks puffing out just slightly as he looks at the ground. 

“… he’s made the decision,” Poe breathes. “I can … try to sway it, but I doubt that he will listen.” 

Fantastic. She reaches up to roughly rub the tears from her cheeks, sniffling and scowling at her own crying. 

This is her fate. This is the hand the gods have dealt her. She knows full well she would’ve died otherwise, and her people with her. She promised she would go with him, promise to give herself for her goddess. She made an oath, yes, and now she curses it. Though perhaps it can be broken --

“I can leave,” Poe offers, voice barely above a mutter. “If you would like. The bath will stay warm for a while.” 

She nods immediately, and is surprised to see that he nods and walks towards the door. He gets closer to her and she freezes, stiffening and avoiding his eyes, looking steadily at the painted wall ahead. 

She can feel his hand on her shoulder, large and warm against her skin, but she doesn’t dare look towards him as he gives her the slightest squeeze before leaving. 

She can hear the slap of his sandals as he makes his way back into the living area, and as soon as he’s gone she lets out a noise that’s not quite sob, not quite hiccup. She has no doubt that he heard it, but she doesn’t bother to cover her mouth to stifle the sound as she stands at the end of the tub. 

There are oils swirling in it, and she bites her lip, debating whether to step in or not. There’s dust and sand coating her skin, she can feel it on her upper arms and see it along the bottom of her tunic. Her feet are still black, and she finds herself walking towards the strigil and jars of oil. 

She grabs one of the smaller bottles, popping the seal and pouring a bit of oil out into her hand. Her nose immediately scrunches at the overwhelming perfume, but she rubs it with two fingers into her palm anyways, finding it better quality than the oil she used at the bathhouse on Jakku. That was old, somewhat dirty oil that had been deemed unsellable to traders. This is much finer, and much more perfumed, and she rubs it between her fingers before rubbing it on her skin. The dirt collects on her fingers, leaving marks across her palm. She pours more out, smearing it on the inside of her arm. She curses softly under her breath. It feels good, warm. Perhaps she should bathe, if the oil is becoming this dirty just from touching her skin.

She unties the belt around her waist, setting it to the side before unpinning her peplos. The fabric falls to the floor, and she steps from it, reaching for the oil to smooth along her arms. There’s a basin to collect the dirt and oil from the strigil, but she takes the time to coat herself well. 

There are other stones there, too, sharp ones that she knows to drag along her arms and legs and the apex of her thighs. Pumice stones, too, to aid the path of the sharper stone. She bites her lip as she drags the strigil along her arm, watching as it leaves a pale stripe behind, the dust and sand having turned her skin a deeper brown. 

“There is food when you desire it.” 

Rey startles, the strigil falling from her slick fingers and hitting the marble floor with a harsh ‘crack’ as she stares with wide eyes at the doorway.  
Poe’s standing there, with a bowl of grapes and a loaf of bread with olive oil. Her stomach aches for something, and she waits half a heartbeat before nodding, resisting the urge to cover her body with her hands from the Emperor’s consort. She looks back to her bare legs, using the strigil to scrape the dust from them. Her skin’s slightly pink from the force, and she uses the pumice stone to scrub at her skin, trying to get the hair off. 

“Stop.” 

She does so, glancing up towards Poe. He’s closer than she’d realized, and she straightens up, still holding the stone. 

He takes it from her. “You’re too harsh,” he says. “You’ll hurt yourself.” 

“Does it matter?” she demands. 

“Yes. It burns, not pleasant,” he replies, nodding to the edge of the tub. “Sit.” 

“No.” 

“I can’t help you while you stand,” he says, tugging at his tunic. She averts her eyes as he lifts it over his head, hearing as the fabric falls, and then he’s stepping into the water. She catches a glimpse of sun-bronzed skin, and wonders why the Emperor allows him to be so brown. Normally the elite keep inside, to avoid the work, but Poe is tan and freckled on his shoulders. She watches the swirls of oil as he walks through, standing near the edge nearest to her. “Sit. Bring the jars with you.”

She follows his orders, grabbing the jars and settling at the edge of the tub. She dips her legs in the water and gasps at its warmth. On Jakku, if they wanted warm water, they’d bathe in the sea when the sun was highest. There were no hot springs, no hypocausts in the bathhouse because it was difficult to maintain and keep warm and no one in particular wanted to do that job when there were more profitable ones involving the little trade the island received.

She kicks her legs slowly in the water, and watches him as he fetches the oil from one of the bottles. He tips it over into his hand and reaches for her ankle with the other. She moves away immediately, glaring at him. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he insists. “Neither of us are.” 

“You don’t know that,” she protests. “You don’t know if he is.” 

“I know for a fact that he won’t.” He says it gently as he takes her ankle. This time, she lets him. He smooths the oil on her skin before rubbing the pumice stone along her shins in circles. She can feel the little pricks as it takes the hair away, but bites her lip and says nothing as he moves along her skin. He’s gentler than she was, and though her flesh is pink, it’s more from the heat of the water than anything. 

He follows with the sharper stone, all the way up to her inner thigh. She lets him, his hands kinder to her skin than hers had been. The oil’s been scented with juniper, and it reminds her of the whiffs she’d get the few times she went into the port market, the scent fresh. 

“You are scared,” he observes, and she looks down at the sudden realization that she is clinging to the side of the bath for dear life, the lip of it cutting into her palms and her knuckles white.

“Yes,” she admits. 

“Don’t be,” he mumbles. “He is not unkind.” 

“I will be the judge of the character who took me from my home,” she insists. 

“Do not judge him too harshly,” Poe replies, warm brown eyes meeting hers. She can hear the soft sound of the water as he reaches up to rinse the bits of pumice from her skin, fingers trailing along the bone of her shin and moving up to the softness behind her knee before moving back down to rub at the grime that still clings to the skin of her feet. 

“I will judge him as I see fit.” 

He sighs, but nods. “So be it.” He offers his hands to her so that she can slip into the water, and she goes willingly. 

The heat of the water is unlike anything she’s known, and she gasps softly, hearing his laughter. 

“Did you not have hot water?” Poe questions, chuckle still in his voice.

“No,” she replies simply, rubbing her hand up and down her arm as she stands before him. “No one wanted to do the job.” 

He hums, and she looks at him as he steps to the side, water sloshing as he moves slightly away from her to give her space. She’s grateful for it, biting her lip as he settles on the sunken step below the water built for sitting purposes. 

A thought strikes her suddenly, and she looks up towards the man sitting across from her. He’s watching her, curious as she crosses her arms over her chest to cover where the water isn’t quite as high as she wishes it was. “… Does he have any others?” Rey asks. 

“Others?” Poe replies, frowning at her.

“… consorts,” she says, unsure of what the term was for someone who slept with and truly loved the Emperor. To sleep with, she knows that word. To love, she knows that as well. But to do both, while still lacking a position of authority and respect? She has no idea. 

“Just me,” Poe explains. “And now you.” 

Two. He has two, including her. Her and Poe. That’s … better than she was expecting, honestly. She wasn’t quite sure , not with the suddenness of her capture. She settles on the bench carved into the side of the tub, bending to sit and sighing as the warm water comes just above her breasts. 

“Did you expect him to have more?” 

“I don’t know what to expect,” she admits quietly. “I don’t know anything at all. I don’t know his face.” 

“You’ll see it soon enough,” he says, and it’s meant to be reassuring, but instead it makes her stomach feel even heavier. She hunches, and looks up when she hears splashing. She watches as he exits the tub. This time she doesn’t avert her eyes, biting her lip as she sees his bare back. He’s stripped of hair as well, or at least as much as he can be without pain, and she watches as he pulls his tunic back on, the fabric clinging to his wet skin before he steps towards the door.

“Stay as long as you’d like,” he says. “I was told clothes will be brought.”

“Thank you.” She means it, settling back into the water and leaning against the stone as he nods and leaves. When he’s gone, she closes her eyes, sighing a bit as the heat of the water sinks into her bones.

Warm. Everything’s warm here. Jakku had been hot, often uncomfortably so. More often than not she’d return into the temple and find her skin prickling and stinging from the sun, browning soon after. Here is better, softer. The water around her is warm instead of scalding, as is the oil she’d dipped her fingers in earlier. 

And Poe. Poe is warm, in his words and his kindness towards her – a stranger about to share his bed. The idea makes her chest clench painfully, and she winces, trying to brush the thought aside as quickly as it had come.

She keeps her eyes closed as she ducks beneath the water, running her fingers through her hair to rinse it of dust and grime. She pushes it back from her face and sits up, gasping and wiping water from her eyes and face before reaching for one of the jars of perfumed oil. With her fingers, she combs it through ends of her hair. She can smell juniper and hums, rubbing the rest into her hands before looking towards the bowl of grapes he’d brought in. Rey grabs one and slips it between her lips, humming again in soft pleasure at the taste of the fresh fruit. She has a few more, leaning on the side of the tub and filling her practically empty stomach as she waits for Poe to return. 

She’s eaten most of the grapes and half of the bread before he returns, white fabric in his arms. She watches, legs kicking lazily in the water as he walks by her, setting the fabric on a bench before turning to her, holding a thicker-woven blanket out. She notices he’s now dressed in a white tunic with gold hem, the other having been undecorated and soaked besides. “Do you wish to stay in there longer?” he asks, raising a dark brow at her.

No, she supposes not. Her fingers are already wrinkled, and she shakes her head as she stands, water sluicing from her oiled skin as she steps from the tub. She takes the offered blanket and wraps it around herself as he presents the tunic to her. 

It’s finer than anything she’s worn, by far. She had her fine peplos for the festivals that were thrown in honor of the goddess, and for special days aside, but it wasn’t so fine as this. This is something else, something made of some fabric from somewhere she doesn’t know. She reaches damp fingers out to touch it, rubbing the thin fabric between her fingers. She can just see the silhouette of her hand behind it, and looks towards him. 

“Mine is made of the same,” Poe explains.

She nods, and looks for a breast band. “Where-“ she starts, looking towards her chest pointedly, but he shakes his head. 

“I can ask for one if you wish, but he gave me orders not to have you wear one when he sees you.” 

“What else did he order?” she asks as he hands her the fabric. He doesn’t answer her question. She holds it to her chest as he grabs two pearled pins from the bench, and allows him to pin it for her. The cord he wraps around her waist is the same color of the fabric, and she lets him tie it around her to keep the fabric closed at her side. The fabric’s cool, and she bites her lip as it brushes against her nipples, the sensation strange but not unpleasant as she reaches up to adjust one of the pinned shoulders properly.

“Thank you,” she mutters. 

“What for?” he asks, reaching for a comb to run through her wet hair. He walks around behind her, hand touching her waist gently. 

“For being kind,” she says, practically whispering as she feels the gentle tug of the comb against her scalp. “You will have to share the one you love. I apologize.” 

“There is no need for an apology,” he says, and she’s grateful for the fact that he’s behind her so he can’t see the sudden flush of her cheeks and her teeth worrying at her lower lip. 

“You know nothing of me, why are you being kind?” 

There’s silence for a moment, and his hands still before there’s a soft sigh. 

“I feel sorry,” he says, finally, and she stiffens. “Am I angry? Yes. With him. I do not wish this on you. But he is intent on keeping you, and the least I can do is help you. I remember coming here. There was no one for me. I wish there had been.” 

His hands find her shoulders, and she tenses, closing her eyes as he rubs soothing circles into her skin with his thumbs. “You still do not know me.” 

“No, but I wish to,” he replies. “I like what I’ve seen already.” 

She turns to look towards him, cheeks flaming in response to his statement as his hands slip from her shoulders. He bends and grabs the half-eaten bread and grapes, looking towards her. “He will be returning shortly. He needed to speak to the soldiers.” 

“The guard said the same thing,” she replies, following him into the sitting area. He sets the food down on a table, and she sits herself on the couch next to it, taking another grape. 

“Finn,” Poe says. “His name is Finn.” 

“Finn,” she repeats. “And the Emperor? How is he called?” 

“Ren,” Poe replies. “Just Ren.”


	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Historical inaccuracies will occur in this story so that I could tell the tale that I wished to tell. While I did my best to research and make everything as accurate as I possibly could, there will be differences.

It had been morning when she was taken. With the ship’s return to the shore, and the time she’s spent with Poe in nervous silence, the sun’s just starting to set by the time the Emperor steps through the door.

She can hear the slap of his sandals, the slight metallic ‘chink’ of his armor as he steps forward. She’s facing Poe, her back to the door, so she only sees Poe’s reaction to the man entering the room. The Emperor’s consort looks up, and she can see how his shoulders lose some of their tension, how his smile comes easy. He’s rising a moment later, crossing to the Emperor. He passes her, and she refuses to turn around even as she hears the soft muttering of Latin and the tell-tale sound of lips meeting lips. 

Silence falls after, and she closes her eyes, waiting.

“Rey.” 

Poe’s voice is slightly stern, and she turns to see him standing next to the Emperor, close to his side. 

She stills, eyes darting to the common soldier’s armor the man is wearing. He’s big, and broad, skin pale. His arms and thighs are thicker than her head, she thinks, biting her lip as she stands, hands clenched by her sides. 

He’s handsome. It makes the situation better and entirely worse at the same time as her gaze roams over his cheekbones, his nose and his full lips - … 

No. No, that can’t be right. He’s not - …

Her nails dig into her palm. She glares at him, watching as Poe glances to the Emperor. 

“Rey,” the Emperor greets, testing her name on his tongue.

His voice is a low timber, and her heart skips a beat in recognition. 

“You-!” she starts, the word nearly lost in the hollow of her throat. At the temple, amidst the soldiers and the chaos, she hadn’t suspected, couldn't have with everything around her.

She should’ve made the connection earlier, she knows. She should’ve known that the man who ripped her from her temple was the Emperor himself, despite the lies he’d fed her. She should’ve expected no less. Rey watches him as he gives her the slightest nod, the tiniest inclination of his head in confirmation of what she already knows. His full lips are slightly quirked, smirk small but there all the same. “It was you!” she snarls. 

She remembers his hand around her arm, the sword against her throat, his harsh voice by her ear, and rage boils hot and sudden in her veins. Within seconds she’s striding forward, reaching for him as Poe lunges towards her, already knowing what she’s doing. Her hand connects with the Emperor’s cheek anyway, her palm stinging as she watches the pale skin redden from the contact. The Emperor does nothing, his head snapping to the side from the force of her hit. He flinches, but doesn’t speak, doesn’t even reach for her as she goes to strike again. 

Poe’s hand is wrapped around her wrist within moments, and then she’s being pulled back against his chest. She can feel the heat of his skin against her back, his breath hot against her ear. “Don’t-“ he starts, low and gruff.

“Let her.”

There’s that voice again, and she glares, struggling against Poe’s grip as the Emperor narrows his eyes and … smiles, ever so slightly. “She fights. She fought me on Jakku, as well.” 

“Take me back!” 

The volume of her voice shocks even her, and she can feel Poe still at her back. She can hear the shifting of the four guards stationed at the doors, their armor clinking as they reach for their weapons. She launches forward towards the Emperor, fighting against Poe’s grip. “I want to go back!”

“Rey, stop,” Poe says warningly, his hands tightening to the point of pain. She’s reminded of the other man’s grip, the hands of the Emperor who so harshly wrenched her from her home and her goddess, and everything she’s ever known, and struggles against him further, trying to break free to run. 

“Let her go.” 

“Ren-“ Poe replies, looking towards his husband in confusion. 

“Let her go.” It’s said once more, firmer this time, and Poe releases her immediately. All resistance gone, she falls forward a bit, stumbling before standing and finding herself closer to the Emperor than before. His smile is gone, eyes dark as she steps back to find Poe behind her. She can feel the heat of his chest against her back once more, his hands settling on her hips to steady her. He’s not holding her back, no, not anymore. He’s merely touching her to comfort her. She wants to step away, wants no comfort now, but her other option is to step towards the Emperor. 

“She’ll sleep in here,” the Emperor explains. “I expect you to join me shortly.” It’s an order, nearly harsh despite the man’s dulcet voice.

“When I’ve finished with her,” Poe replies, equally as harsh, and Rey turns in surprise towards the man holding her. His gaze is narrowed towards his lover, and her heart stills in her chest. “Then I will join you.” 

“So be it.” The Emperor passes them, and she catches the tinny smell of blood and the musk of sweat as he goes. As soon as the sound of his sandals on the marble floors fade, she’s wrenching herself away from Poe and turning to glare at him. 

“I want-“ she starts, but he holds his hand up to stop her. 

“You want to return to your home, I know,” he says. “You need to get back to Jakku. I told you I would try.” 

She watches him as he runs his fingers through his hair, shaking his head a bit and casting a glance towards the bedroom before looking towards her again. His smile’s soft and sad and lopsided. “Finn is outside,” he explains. “He will help you if you need anything. If you wish for me, I will be beside him.” He jerks his head towards the bedroom entryway. 

“… thank you.” She says it softly, voice on the verge of breaking. She doesn’t will it to, doesn’t want to feel the sting of tears again, doesn’t want to feel her heart in her throat. But she stands tall and nods as Poe brushes the back of her hand with his fingertips before retreating into the bedroom, curtains falling closed behind him. 

The couch she choses for her bed is softer than her small nest of blankets in the temple, but she longs for the rough wool blankets and the cool of the marble against her back as she sits and brings her knees to her chest. 

-

“You’re a fool.” 

Ren looks up from where he’s unstrapping the side of his armor, his consort and husband entering like a whirlwind into the bedroom. Poe’s glaring, fists clenched as he stalks up to the Emperor. “Am I?” Ren asks as Poe huffs and reaches up to undo the difficult clasps at the taller man’s shoulders.

“Yes,” Poe hisses. “And I don’t suppose any amount of pleading or my lips on your cock will get you to turn right back around and return her.” Ren can feel him tugging harshly at the leather, anger manifesting itself in his words and his fingers. 

“She gave herself for her people. She swore it to the goddess,” Ren mumbles, watching as Poe finishes with the clasps on one side before reaching for the other side. The shorter man’s brow is furrowed, mouth downturned as he yanks on the leather. “The island is worth nothing. It doesn’t contribute to the Empire, and what trade it does wouldn’t assist anyway. She would’ve gone up in flames with it.” 

“Don’t tell me that you would’ve done that,” Poe snarls. “You wouldn’t.” 

“Its population is pitiful.” 

“That does not give you the right!” The chest plate falls to the floor with a loud clatter, and Ren watches as Poe picks it up to put it in the wooden chest with the rest of his armor. He waits as Poe throws it in before watching as his spouse walks back, Poe’s arms crossed over his chest. “You can tell me that you would’ve killed everyone on that island. You can tell me that you would’ve slaughtered them if she hadn’t given herself. You can tell me that you would’ve left her to die with them, and I will call you a liar.” 

Ren watches as his lover glares, and stares as Poe seemingly deflates, sighing and running his hand down his face before moving it up into his hair. 

“You come in and tell me that you have brought a girl – she is a girl, Ren! She is young! You come back from a seemingly routine trip to the islands and return with a girl you forcefully took from her home, and tell me that she is to lie with us.” His gaze isn’t quite a glare anymore, but it’s certainly hard. “You can’t tell me you expected me to be pleased about this. You can’t tell me that you possibly thought I would be happy about sharing you. If you thought that you were in the right, you are wrong. She doesn’t want to be here, I don’t want her to be here if only for her sake.”

The man’s right. Ren watches as Poe walks back to grab a small vial of oil to ease the straps around his calves, tighter because of the nature of their location. The man’s right; he should’ve consulted with him, should’ve given him warning. But he can’t regret bringing her, not when the town had looked like what it had. “What do you think of her?” he asks, watching as Poe bends to help him with the straps around his calves.

His lover snorts, shaking his head. “I think she is beautiful.” 

“And what else?” Ren demands. “You’ve spent more time with her than I have.”

“And whose fault is that?” Poe snaps, before he glances up towards the Emperor, brow no longer furrowed but frown remaining. The consort gives a sigh as he slathers oil on the leather knots to aid their release. “I think she has wit, and strength, and fire. For an attendant of Aphrodite, she fights like her goddess’s lover.” Poe’s laughter is soft, and without humor, and Ren feels one knot slip loose. 

“And what do you think of me for nearly loving her already?” he asks. “She is beautiful, yes. And her actions for her people are admirable.” He smirks, recalling the sting of her hand against his cheek. “And she is a fighter. She will do well to train with Finn.”

“I think you a fool,” Poe nearly snarls. “But if I think that, then I am a fool as well. Her goddess works in strange ways, as always.” He pulls the brace off and shifts it into his hands, standing and walking towards the chest and dropping it in. “You won’t be returning her?” 

“There is nothing there for her but the temple.” 

“She wishes to go back.” 

“There is nothing for her there,” Ren repeats, recalling the sands and dirt and drunkards on the streets. The families there were few, most of the population made up of grimy traders pinching coins. Aside from the temple and its attendant, there’s nothing of beauty on the little island. He honestly wonders why she hadn’t left for a better temple, a better life. “We can offer her more.” 

“I know that well,” Poe mutters as Ren bends. The leather straps are tight, the oil that had been on them absorbed by the dust on the material. He grunts as he tries to unbuckle them. “Let me.” 

Ren relents and straightens, watching as Poe kneels and undoes the straps. “Do you think me cruel?” 

“I think you an idiot in this moment, your faults worthy of the gods themselves,” Poe mutters, standing once he pulls the other brace away. “But no, you are not cruel.”

“She thinks me cruel.”

“Ren, you took her from her home and forced her into a new livelihood,” Poe explains. “She thinks you a monster.”

“Is she right?” 

Poe’s quiet for a moment, setting the brace in the chest before looking up towards his lover. Ren can see the firelight flicker across his consort’s face, noting the sharp shadows and features of the man he’s taken as his companion. He watches as Poe sighs, standing. 

“No. I don’t think so. But you are impulsive, and selfish, and indulgent in your own desires,” Poe explains, running a hand through his dark curls. “If you wish for her to become your concubine, so be it. I have no protests. But don’t expect her to share our bed immediately, else I fear we’ll wake up with our skin scratched and our eyes clawed out and her on a boat back to her island.”

Ren snorts, and bends to kiss Poe. He’s surprised he’s even allowed to, surprised even further when Poe kisses him back willingly, hand moving up and into the emperor’s hair. Ren hums against his husband’s mouth, hand moving to Poe’s lower back. 

“Will you take care of her?” he mutters. 

“I will try,” Poe mumbles back. “I make no promises that she won’t escape and be on a boat back to the island in the morn.” 

“That is all I ask.”

-

The palace sounds different. On Jakku, there was the sea breeze, and the sounds of the town below her. Here, everything is so much louder. Rey can hear the rustling of the trees just outside the doors to the garden, the soft swish of the curtains leading into the Emperor’s and Poe’s bedroom. It’s grating to her ears, and she hates it. It’s cooler here, too. She doesn’t have her little nest of wool and stolen sheets, doesn’t have her makeshift bed in the alcove of the temple or the fire basin beside it to keep her warm. 

The moon is high in the sky, casting everything in a glow of silver as she listens for the rustling of the guards. She’d heard footsteps leave, had heard the changing of the shifts as the sun set. Now she bides her time, sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she waits for darkness to fall entirely. 

She hears nothing, no breathing nor shuffling of sandaled feet as she stands, setting the blanket on the couch as she steps towards the doors to the gardens. Casual observing earlier that day had revealed that it wasn’t a private courtyard, that it led to the orchards and from there down to the shore. It’s far from the port, yes, but perhaps – 

Perhaps it’s worth a try. 

A quick peek out the garden proves that there are no guards nearby. For all the guards who were there that morning, she frowns at the lack of their presence. But, alas, the only shifting she sees is the leaves in the trees. She hears no breathing but her own, and nothing moves as she takes a step from the marble-floored sitting area out onto the path.

And then she’s running. 

Rey can hear the harsh slap of her bare feet on the marble before she reaches cool grass, holding the long tunic in her hands to keep from tripping as she tries to go down the hill towards the orchards. It’s not long before she hears the shouting, the footsteps. She doesn’t dare look back until she hears someone right behind her, and when she does she barely sees the man in the darkness until he wraps his arm around her waist and tugs her back against a firm chest. Immediately she kicks back, catching the man’s calf, and she hears his grunt as he lets her go. 

Her first step into trying to run again has her tunic tangled around her legs, and she falls to the grass below. She can feel her ankle twist on the way down and cries out before there are hands reaching for her, and she scrambles back as best as she can, kicking towards him. 

She can see the guard, now. Can see the face of the kind soldier who’d brought her to the Emperor’s rooms in the first place. Finn, Poe had said. His name is Finn. 

“Stop,” he says, in her language, and his voice is so soft and sweet that she does, tangled in her long tunic with her hands scratched and dirty from trying to scramble away from him. Her breathing is harsh, chest aching. 

She’s expecting to be yanked up and pulled back, like the Emperor had done in the temple after she’d fallen then, but she can feel a warm hand on her back and an arm beneath her knees as she’s lifted up. Her ankle twinges, like it had when she was little and took the steps down the temple too fast. Finn is warm, his chest lacking the plate it had when she met him the first time, and he says nothing as he carries her back up the short distance she’d run. She can see that the light of the Emperor’s rooms are lit, now, warm and inviting despite the dread she feels as she’s carried back, worn out with her heart racing and tears starting to smart behind her eyes. Her chance to escape and she had ruined it with a clumsy step.

Another guard, his skin light and dark hair cropped short, approaches them. Finn cuts him off with a gentle word, some phrase Rey doesn’t know, but she likes the sound of his voice much better than the Emperor’s. 

There’s a figure standing in the doorway she’d taken flight from, and as they get closer she can see that it’s Poe, his arms crossed over his chest and hair bed-tousled. He’s wearing a rumpled tunic, probably hastily thrown on after he was alerted. 

“What happened?” he asks. Rey winces. He sounds … hurt, almost, his voice gruff from sleep and eyes tired. He holds his arms out, and Rey knows she’s about to be transferred. She takes advantage of the change and, when no one’s arms are particularly tight around her, she jumps. The movement ends in agony, her ankle giving out once more, and she falls hard to the marble patio. There are immediately arms around her again – Poe’s, she thinks, as she tries to dig her nails in and get him to release her.

“Let me go!” She’s surprised at how the words sound coming from her mouth, a growl, nearly animalistic. They have no effect as she’s scooped up and lifted towards Poe’s chest. The Emperor’s consort nods to Finn, giving a soft word of thanks before she’s being carried back into the sitting room. 

Her heart aches as she looks up at him, his gaze on the couch. “You promised!” It’s hissed. “You said you would help me get back to the island, you said-“

“I said I would try to sway his decision, not that I would help you escape.” The words are hissed right back as he sets her on the couch. She stares as he glares at her, gaze hard and angry before he seemingly crumbles, expression turning into one of exasperation as he runs his hand down his face. “You’re lucky it was Finn. The other guards would not have been as kind.” 

“If Finn was kind he would have let me go!” she snaps as she adjusts herself, pulling her ankle up to inspect it. Already she can see that it’s swollen, the low light not helping her sight as she prods at it and hisses.

“Yes, he would have let you hobble to the docks on a wounded ankle to return to your island and limp the rest of your days,” Poe mutters, tone sarcastic. 

“I don’t care, I-“

“Rey.” 

Her name is barely a breath, and she looks up towards the Emperor’s consort to see that his face is in his hands, concealed from her. There’s a heavy sigh, and then one of his hands slides up into his hair as the other falls to his side. He looks … pained. Resigned, almost, and exhausted as she curls up, arms wrapped around her knees.

“If you wish to go, wait ‘til morn where we can actually see and retrieve supplies and hire a ship. There’s nothing we can do at this hour, no ship will want to take you, no captain will be awake. If you wish to go in the morn, then I will take you down to the docks. Ren will be gone to the other islands, I will take care of him when he returns. Is that understood?”

_Is that understood?_

She stares at him for a moment longer. Wait ‘til morn. Retrieve supplies. Hire a ship. Take you down to the docks. The words echo in her head as she stares at the Emperor’s consort, blinking in shock before she nods wordlessly, her chest feeling like it’s about to cave in on itself. 

“All right. Good.” There’s another sigh, tired and sad, and she watches as he closes the curtains to the garden, shielding her view of the moon and land beyond. “I will treat your ankle in the morning.”

“Thank you.” It’s almost an afterthought as she watches him walk back towards the bedroom. Beyond the soft light through the thinly woven curtains, she can see a taller figure, broader and waiting for Poe to return to bed. She averts her eyes, closing them after a moment as she tips to lie down, careful of her twisted ankle. The blanket she’d been given is thin, but it’s something, and she pulls it over her shoulders as she curls up and watches the sliver of moonlight cross the floor, the fire having been extinguished.

She’s almost asleep when there’s the soft sound of sandals on stone, and her eyes snap open to see the silhouette of one of the guards as he steps towards her. She frowns, trying to focus her gaze in the low light as he continues towards her. The closer he comes, the clearer he is, and she looks up into Finn’s face as he holds out another, thicker blanket to her. 

“Finn,” she breathes in greeting, reaching up to take the blanket from him. “… thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” His voice is deep and slightly accented, just as soft as it had been when he picked her up in the orchards. She wonders briefly where he’s from, and pulls the blanket around her shoulders. He leaves with a soft smile, and a bow of his head as she curls back up, warmer now thanks to the wool over her shoulders.

The tears come slowly. She doesn’t feel the prick of them, the sting of the salt; she just feels them as they slide down her nose and her cheeks to the fine fabric of the couch.

-

Morning is quick to come. Her exhaustion of the previous day brings her to waking up mid-morning, the sun already having risen and streams of sunlight pouring into the living area. She blinks, wincing at the brightness of it as she pulls the blankets closer around her, sighing at the softness of them. 

Realization bleeds into her mind like ink into water, quick to spread. She blinks, and stares across the room towards the doors to the gardens as she hears low voices speaking in Latin. It takes her a moment to realize one is the Emperor’s, and the other is Poe’s. 

She can’t decipher what they’re saying, her knowledge of the language too weak and the voices too soft besides, but she hears the door open and close shortly after. A peek over the head of the couch shows Poe, already dressed in a tunic of yellow. Rey stares. The yellow of the tunics she’d seen merchants wear was never this vibrant. Poe looks like Apollo himself, radiating the sun’s rays off of golden skin as he takes notice of her and walks down towards her. 

He looks tired. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his smile is weary as he sits on the edge of the couch. She scoots away slightly, hissing as her ankle moves the wrong way and pain flares up her calve. 

“Elevate it,” Poe says softly, and she stills as he grabs a cushion, taking her ankle and lifting it as gently as he can. She watches as he puts the cushion on his own lap, and sets her foot on top of it. It still hurts, but the feeling of his warm hand on her skin as he feels for the swelling is a comfort, and she relaxes a bit as he rests his hand on her ankle. 

“Not broken, I don’t think,” the consort says softly. “You just need rest.” 

Rest. She doesn’t want to rest. She sits up, bracing herself on her elbows as she watches him. “Is he gone?” It’s a demand. 

“He has only just left, his ship will be departing as soon as he reaches the shore. Once I see it in the distance, then we will see about putting you on another to take you home. For now, you need rest.”

His hand rests on her ankle again, holding and pressing and his thumb rubbing soft circles into the swollen muscle. She watches him and pulls the blankets up and over her shoulders. 

She can’t remember being touched like this. The small, fleeting memories she has of anyone she could call her family are of a woman’s voice, fingers through her hair, and the sand between her bare toes. She has no recollection of being treated like this, like someone to care for, someone precious. Rey bites her lip and silently relishes in the touch. 

The temple didn’t have moments like this. She was the sole occupant. There were few traders she admired, few visitors who cared to stay longer than a few moments before going on their way. Certainly no one so handsome as Poe, or so attentive to her. Most of the time she went unnoticed, uncared about.  
Now? He’s treating her like she matters, when she knows full well what he’s just given up for her. 

“What would I be? To him?” she asks, quietly. “If I were to stay?” 

It’s a question, that’s all it is.

“A concubine,” Poe explains in Greek, and then he says it in Latin. The word is familiar to her. 

“And you are?” Rey asks, frowning. 

“His husband, though not legally recognized,” Poe says simply, his eyes still on her ankle as he massages the stressed tendons. “His consort. However you chose to phrase it.” 

“So I would be second.” 

“I wouldn’t think of it like that,” Poe replies. “He would not treat you as such.”

“You say that like I have not been treated poorly by him so far.” 

The man is quiet for a moment, and she watches his thumb make circles on her skin. It’s soothing, and she’s still sleepy. Sleepy, and hungry, but she scoots down to rest her head on the cushions below, bending her knees so she doesn’t displace her ankle from his lap. 

He notices, looking towards her with a soft smile. “Sleep, little one.” The term’s affectionate, and his voice warms her as she curls into the blanket, careful not to move her ankle. “I’ll wake you when he is gone.” 

She’s not entirely sure if she replies with a hum or a word, but she closes her eyes to the feeling of his hand on her skin and the sound of the wind outside.

-

There are fingers in her hair. Bigger than she remembers, but no less gentle. She blinks awake to the afternoon sun, and the sight of Poe above her, gently stroking her hair to wake her. His smile is weak.

“He is gone.” 

He is gone. She can leave. 

Rey sits up. “Are we to leave?” 

“As soon as you are ready.” 

“I’m ready.” 

It’s said too soon. She swings her legs over the side of the couch and stands, and then gasps in pain as her ankle gives out beneath her. There are hands clutching her shoulders in moments, and she’s guided to fall into a hard chest as she curses under her breath. She can feel Poe chuckle at her words, and then she’s being lifted, his arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back. 

“I don’t believe you’re ready,” he teases. “If you wait for another day, then perhaps you will be able to walk back up to your temple without assistance.”  
Wait for another day, she thinks. Wait for another day in his care, wait for another day in this warm palace with its sweet grapes and kind guards and kinder consorts. 

Or return to the temple, where she is meant to be. 

“I need to go back to Jakku.” 

It sounds weak even to her.

“So be it. But you need to eat, first.” 

Poe’s voice has an edge to it, something not quite sharp, but almost disappointed, and she closes her eyes as she’s carried to another couch, set down ever so gently, and guided to rest her ankle on a cushioned ottoman. By the time she opens her eyes, Poe’s carrying over a spread of food, bread and oil and fruit and dried meat and it’s more than anything she’s ever had in her life. All of this is more than she’s had in her entire life. 

The sob that spills forth is nearly angry in its intensity, and her hand flies to her mouth to cover the next one. She can’t discern whether it’s better or worse that Poe immediately kneels beside her, taking her other hand and whispering words she can’t hear over the rush of her heartbeat in her ears, but are comforting in their gentleness, in the warmth of his voice.

She needs to go back to Jakku. There is a statue to tend to, a temple to take care of, a goddess to attend to. 

A goddess she had promised she would give herself to her people for. 

_I swear on my goddess, Aphrodite, to give myself for my people._

She would be breaking an oath if she were to return. And there is no telling what the Emperor will do if he were to find her missing. He would know exactly where she went, exactly where to find her once more. And he would be crueler, she thinks, this time.

There is nothing but the temple for her there, no one who has shown her as much care in over a decade than the man who’s now kneeling before her, face twisted in confusion as he tries to figure out why she is crying. Even Finn has been kinder to her than anyone on the island has. 

“Don’t cry, don’t cry, sweet girl, don’t cry…” 

Poe’s words sound as if he is underwater, and she stares at him as he shows her more kindness in a little more than a day than she has ever had, and then she’s nodding, trying to wipe away her tears with the palm of her hand. 

For all of her time at the temple, Poe has offered her more warmth and promise than a statue of stone ever has.

“I wish to stay.” 

It comes out in a rush, and Poe stares at her, warm eyes wide.

“There is nothing for me there." Her heart stutters. To think it is one thing, to say it aloud is another. It's clearer, now that it's out of her mouth, that it is the truth. She has no family, no ties aside from the temple, and she gave that up when she made the oath. There is nothing there for her now.

And here, here is Poe. There is warmth and better food and better clothes and a man who has done more for her than anyone on the island has ever done.

"I wish to stay," she repeats, stronger than before.

Poe stares for another heartbeat before he’s smiling, soft and sweet and her heart lifts ever so slightly at the sight of it. “All right,” he says with a simple nod, standing and pouring wine into a cup for her. “Then you will stay.”

-

Five days. Five days she’s been here, and she’s seen the Emperor exactly twice since their first interaction. 

He’s a terrifying being. He walks like how she expects mountains to walk, steps heavy and shoulders squared, gait the slightest bit uneven. Or maybe Zeus, or Poseidon. Someone unsteady and powerful beyond words. His shoulders are seemingly broader than two of her, hands big enough to cover her entire face if he should try. His eyes are dark and hard, voice low and harsh whenever he speaks. She hates it, hates when she hears his voice echo through the marble hallways. It makes her wince every time she hears it, anger pulsing quick and hot through her veins until Poe emerges with something for her. He always has something for her, be it a new wrap for her ankle or a treat from the kitchens or a flower from the gardens. He is near always there, and always caring.

She has bruises, from her fall against the temple floor when he’s taken her. Poe notices the dark mark around her hip when she bathes, and offers her some salve for it, some combination of herbs and oils that smells potent but eases the ache. 

He’s kinder than anyone she’s ever known, and with each hour that passes in his company she’s convinced that he is not human. He can’t be, he is too brilliant, his smile too warm and touch too gentle. He lacks the severity and cruelty of mankind as he offers everything to her, the girl who entered his life in a moment and is eventually supposed to share his bed. 

She confronts him, on the eve of the fifth day, as she reclines on a couch and he sits in a chair, plucking at a lyre whose strings desperately need to be tightened by someone more skilled than himself. She winces as he plucks at another one of the strings, the sound discordant and strange to her ears. There was no music on Jakku, or at least not often. Any tune that was played never stuck in her mind, no matter how desperately she tried to cling to it. 

“You should hate me,” she declares, raising her voice so he can hear her over the sound of his plucking. 

“And why is that?” he asks, never lifting his gaze from his instrument as he tries to adjust the string again. 

“You know the reason,” she replies, not wanting to admit her position so freely. 

“But I don’t,” he states, lifting the instrument up in the low light in an attempt to see the knot of the string clearly. “I like you.” 

“Why?” 

“You have fire.” He finally looks at her, smile slight. “You love like flames, all consuming and raging and sudden in its brightness. I admire it.”

“How does he love?” she asks, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around them as she watches him set the lyre aside. She is still careful of her ankle, though she can put weight on it and it is hurting less now.

“Like the sea,” he replies. “Powerful and relentless one night, easy and gentle the next.” 

“Unpredictable,” Rey mutters. “He is unpredictable, as the sea is.” 

“Fire is unpredictable as well,” Poe observes. “You never know when it will spit. Or slap, in your case.”

She smirks, eyes moving down towards where the light of the flames is dancing across the marble floors.

“He will be gentle,” he tells her, finishing tightening the string. He hits it again, and it’s prettier this time; a small, light note she hums after he plays it. “I promise. He is not unkind.” 

“His actions say otherwise.” 

“Give him time.”

-

The moon’s risen and fallen twelve times since she was brought to the palace. It’s a vast, lively place, and she’s grateful that the Emperor gave Poe instructions to allow her to walk as she pleases with supervision. Finn’s a friendly companion, and she finds herself enjoying the company of the soldier-turned-palace guard after his injury in battle. His Latin is far better than hers, and he acts as both guide and translator for much of her time. Her ankle has healed almost fully, and she can walk the grounds for hours now with him at her side.

The gardens are greener and lusher than anything on Jakku. Not much grew on the island, food and flowers having been brought in from the mainland. There are apple trees in the nearby orchard that she’d tried to run through her first night, and she practices skills buried from her youth, climbing the limbs to retrieve the fruit. Poe notices when her clothing comes back dirtier, sometimes ripped and sometimes with bark clinging to the threads, but he just shakes his head and inspects her for injuries with a smirk and a few muttered words beneath his breath. 

The first time she returns with flowers, she comes with armful of crocuses and spends the rest of the afternoon on the floor, her back braced against a chair and legs crossed in front of her as she strokes the soft petals. Poe finds her hours later, petals limp from her fingertips and the oil on her skin. His smile’s soft as he walks past her, setting a plate of fruit and bread beside her before retreating into the bedchambers. 

On the twelfth day, she spends it much the same. She bites into an apple as she walks along the small creek along the back of the palace, the water an offspurt from the public fountain that’s filled by the river water. The flesh of the fruit cracks beneath her teeth, and makes a loud sound as she bites it off and crunches it. Finn walks beside her, holding the few violets she’d collected along their walk. 

They’re nearing where the Emperor’s chambers are when she stops, mouth full of sweet-tart apple as she watches the Emperor with a handful of his advisors. His dark hair’s pulled back with a bit of leather, pieces pulled from his face and forming a half-tail at the back of his head. Said dark head is bowed as he listens, and from her distance a dozen or so paces away she can see the way he nods, accepting whatever the advisor is telling him. 

He’s not walking like a mountain now. He looks more contemplative, calmer. She watches, still as he continues to walk alongside the other men.

He looks up after a moment and she watches as his gaze moves out towards the orchards. His eyes find her eventually, and she waits for something, any sort of reaction at all. Though he doesn’t stop as his advisors walk along, she can see the soft smile and nod he gives her before he turns his attention back to the man beside him. 

“Rey?” 

Finn’s speaking to her. She wonders if this is his first attempt, or if she’d let her shock at the small smile take her long enough that he’d asked multiple times. She turns towards him, noticing his eyes on her, slightly worried. “Yes?” 

“Are you all right?” 

She looks back towards the Emperor, who’s turning in towards the courtyards. “… yes.”


	3. III.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains historical inaccuracies regarding women and fighting/battle training. This chapter also contains female masturbation, and some blood/detail of injury. If any of these make you uncomfortable, please hit that back button!

The sun’s getting low. It casts the room in golden light, the curtains tugged aside and doors pulled open to let the light and warmth in. She stands, another apple half-eaten in her hand as she waits for Poe to return from wherever-he’d-been. She’d been hungry moments ago, but her current thought process has rendered her incapable of eating another bite. 

Twelve days. Twelve days she’s been here, and she’s seen the Emperor only a handful of times. He’s spending much of his time away from the palace during this time, Poe had explained on the seventh day, because – like Jakku – he’s making sure that the islands are paying their dues, even as small as they may be. She hopes dearly he doesn’t find someone else to bring to his bed, but considering he’s the Emperor and Poe was his only lover before her, she’s doubtful of the man’s gaze wavering from his now two partners. 

Partners. Lovers. Concubine. Consort. She feels like none of them, an outsider. She’s barely seen the man, let alone touched him aside from the slap she’d delivered to his cheek that first day. And he’s never touched her, despite Poe’s promise that he would eventually touch her and worship her.

Poe promises a lot of things. He promises that it’s good, promises that the Emperor will treat her well, make her feel incredible. He promises that the Emperor is skilled, and if it hurts it’s to intensify the pleasure. She’d asked about that after seeing the marks along his neck, the pale tunics and golden necklaces he sometimes wears seeming to draw attention to the darkened skin rather than away. 

“It shows that I’m his,” Poe had explained, grin just a bit darker than usual, a bit more … mischievous. “I like it as much as he does.” 

She wonders if she’d eventually like to be marked the same way. The idea’s definitely not appealing, especially not if the marks come from the Emperor.

“I was wondering if you’d returned yet.”

Rey turns as the door opens and she hears the voice of the Emperor’s consort. She can see a glimpse of a dark hand, the slightest shine of the armor of her favorite guard as Poe steps through, grinning like a bastard. The marks from the night before have only gotten darker as the day went on, and she can see the ones on his neck and collarbone more clearly now. While bathing, she’d seen the ones on his ass, dark and big, as if he was bitten in one place multiple times. It’s nearly animalistic, the way the Emperor treats him. But she’s also seen Poe after nights where it was softer, sweeter, after which there are no marks on his skin.

“I returned hours ago,” she explains as he walks over to her. He bends, snatching a bit of the bread off of the plate of food she’d been brought. He dips it in the bowl of olive oil and spices, humming as he chews. She watches as he swallows and licks his lips, skin shining from the oil.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you,” Poe apologizes, settling down onto the chair and picking a grape from its stem and pushing it between his lips. 

“It’s all right,” she replies, turning and leaning against the bit of wall between the doors. The golden light illuminates her … friend, she supposes. Partner? Companion? She has no idea what he’s supposed to be to her. Her lover as well? It’s a confusing situation for her, becoming even more so as each day passes. Poe’s explained much of what will happen, but not so much as what they will become. 

“Poe?” she asks, watching as he bends and has another piece of bread. 

“Hm?” he hums, chewing as his dark eyes dart to her. She crosses her arms, apple dangling from her downward-facing hand. 

“… how long was it before the Emperor touched you?”

He’s leaning for another piece of bread when he stops mid-reach, hand and arm outstretched over the bowls and plates. She watches as his handsome face downturns into a frown, brow furrowed as he thinks. He sits back on the chair, hand moving to his stroke at his jaw where the dark shadow of hair’s just starting to come in. 

“… one lunar cycle,” he explains, looking towards her. “… are you nervous about it?” 

“I don’t want him to touch me at all,” she insists harshly. “I don’t want anyone.” 

“Have you ever had anyone touch you?” 

She lets her silence speak for her as he shifts, leaning forward towards her and raising a brow at her. “What do you know?” he asks.

She narrows her eyes at him. “I was the sole servant to the temple of Aphrodite on Jakku. Everything I have and am is in service to her. I spent my days tending the temple and appeasing her. What do you think I know?”

There’s that smile again. A little lopsided with plenty of teeth and a lot of warmth. He laughs softly, shaking his head and scooting back, patting the space he’d just vacated. “Come.” 

She walks over, bare feet crossing the cool floor. The hem of her peplos brushes the tops of her feet as she bends to set the half-eaten apple on the table. She sits beside him, curling up and pulling her knees to her chest. It’s not like she hasn’t been close to him; they’ve shared the tub, shared chairs and sofas plenty of times. But she’s still skittish as he moves just a bit closer to her. 

“So you’ve never known pleasure?” he asks, and it’s a more straightforward question than she’d really expected, and her heart clenches in her chest at how casual he sounds about it. 

“No,” she replies simply, and he smiles in that way that makes her feel like everything’s a bit more right. 

“It comes in many forms,” he explains. “Simple touches, kisses, caresses. The slightest touch to the hand can even be pleasurable, if done right.” 

“I liked when you touched my ankle, after I hurt it,” she explains. “Is that pleasure?”

“It can be, yes,” Poe says with a smile. “But I was thinking of pleasure of a more … intimate nature.”

“Show me,” she demands, and she hears his soft chuckle at her immediate response.

Her hands aren’t soft. She has scars from years past, from a childhood comprised of stealing and running and climbing and falling. Her tending to the temple was better, but taking care of the stone left her hands dry from the cleaning solution she’d created herself. The skin’s getting softer, thanks to Poe’s work with the pumice stone and oil, but she can’t imagine anyone pleasuring her hands. They’re too … ordinary. 

He holds out his hands, palms up to her, offering himself to her. She glances down and stares. He has scars too. A deep one on the meat of his thumb on his right hand, the result of a blade, it looks like. She knows that his skin’s smooth, knows from his helping her dress and decorate herself with the gems the Emperor picked for her to wear. 

“The Emperor has big hands,” he explains. “Bigger than mine.” 

She knows that full well, remembers his hand around her upper arm. She moves, putting her hand in his. His fingers don’t close around hers like she’d expected them to. Instead he lets her run her fingertips along his palm, down his fingers and off. 

“I like to kiss his,” Poe tells her. “Fingertips, his palms, his thumb. This part,” he offers, running his own finger along the outside of his hand, from the base of his littlest finger to the base of his thumb, “becomes rough from his blade. It’s not as sensitive, since it’s calloused, but paying attention there pays attention to the fighting that he’s done, the pain he’s endured.” 

The pain he’s endured. A joke, surely. The man knows no true pain, of that she’s certain. “Is that pleasurable?” Rey asks, frowning. 

“It’s sweet,” Poe says with a shrug. “It’s loving.” 

She touches his hands again, and this time he does take her fingers. She freezes as he raises his eyes to hers, skin warm around her small, slightly-sticky-from-fruit hands. Rey stays perfectly still as he runs his thumbs over the back of her hands, slow and smooth, before he lets her left hand go and grasps her right with both hands. His touch isn’t hard, but he kneads her palm and the meat of her thumb in a way that feels better than when she’d done it after her muscles cramped on the stairs. 

His gaze is still locked onto hers as he turns her hand over and brings it higher. Her eyes widen as he bends forward a bit, pressing soft kisses to the back of her knuckles. He kisses each ridge before moving up and turning his head slightly, pressing kisses to each fingertip and then to her palm. 

She’s not sure she could call it pleasurable, but it’s sweet and soft and she can understand why it’s nice. When he squeezes her hand and holds it loosely in his, she kind of wants him to kiss her skin again, sticky though it may be from the juice of her abandoned apple. 

He laces their fingers, suddenly, and the stretch between his larger fingers and her smaller ones is borderline painful, but she enjoys the warmth of his palm against hers. Almost immediately after he lets go and lets his fingers trail down the delicate flesh of her inner wrist. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, and his voice is as soft as his touch. 

She can only nod as he takes her hands again, just holding them, now. 

“Hand holding,” he explains, “means trust. You can hold his hands, feel them like I did to yours, massage his palm and fingers after training. They get sore if they grip the sword or spear for too long.” 

“… I see,” she mutters, the heat of their joined hands feeling as if it’s in her chest as well as her cheeks. She squeezes his fingers back, trailing her fingertips over the skin of his palms. “Your hands are warm.” 

“And yours are sticky,” Poe teases, pulling his hands back and grinning. “How long were you in the orchard?” 

She speaks of her day, after that, and he listens intently, eyes never leaving her. 

Rey likes it. She likes having someone to tell her adventures to, as small though they might be. 

She can’t remember the last time she had someone listen to her. 

-

“She’s adjusting.” 

Ren hums, eyes still closed as Poe moves closer, bare skin warm against his. Poe curls around the Emperor, tucking his face into Ren’s neck. 

“Is she?” Ren asks, nuzzling his lover and smiling a bit as Poe presses a kiss to his jaw.

“Mhm,” Poe replies, and Ren’s smile broadens as Poe trails fingers along the skin of his back. “She’s starting to accept her place here.” 

“I’m not ready.”

“And neither is she,” Poe mutters. “She’d never even held hands with someone before.”

Ren hums again as he thinks about the pretty temple attendant. It’s not surprising that she’s never had anyone. He recalls the last time he slept with a woman and cringes at the memory. Poe’s lips find his temple immediately afterwards, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the side of his face. 

“Stop thinking about her. I know that you are. Think of me instead.” 

“Think of you doing what?” Ren asks, opening his eyes to meet Poe’s in the dark. He can just barely see the other man’s smirk as Poe moves, pushing him onto his side so that they can lay flush together. Poe’s skin is hot, lips finding the underside of Ren’s jaw. The Emperor moans softly, memories of his former lover already fading away with Poe’s teeth dragging along his skin. He smirks as he feels Poe’s hand near his cock, cupping lightly, fingers barely stroking at all as Ren wraps his arm around his consort to pull him closer.

“Think of me doing this.” 

-

Rey’s given the blade on her thirteenth day.

It’s a steel thing, with a smooth hilt wrapped in leather for her comfort, though she knows Finn's doesn't have the same hilt. It’s smaller than those that she’s seen in the hands of the soldiers, on the hips of the guards, barely longer than her forearm. It’s thinner, as well, and lighter – better weighted to her small but strong frame. 

It’s waiting for her on Poe’s lap, wrapped in dark purple wool. He hands it to her, letting her feel it in her hand before she looks up at him and asks, “Why?” 

“We protect him, as well,” Poe explains, and for the first time she notices that he has his own sword beside him. “I don’t wear mine as often as I should.” 

“I’ve never used one,” she admits. She used sticks when she was younger, a long branch fashioned into a sort of staff of sorts. It helped her carry her stolen goods from the port, and assisted her little legs as she climbed up the hill. It could also thwack a full-grown man in the shins fairly well, if she hit hard enough. She hadn’t had the opportunity to hit a man where it hurt, but she doesn’t doubt that she would’ve if one had arisen. “I had a staff when I was little.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Poe offers, shrugging. “But it’s the Emperor’s wishes that you train with this, for both his protection and yours.” 

“And you waited this long to offer it to me?” 

“It was being made.” His smile’s a bit wry as he crosses his arms over his chest. “We also wanted to make sure you wouldn’t use it against us.” 

The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind, honestly, with how long she’s stayed and how comfortable it’s been with him – not to mention how he’s cared for her. She looks down at the blade in her hands, turning it over in her palm before letting it rest by her side. 

“I won’t.” 

-

She’s unused to fabric wrapped between her legs. She feels bare, lacking the typical covering of her peplos. There’s fabric wrapped around her breasts, dark in color to match the subligar tied between her legs to cover her. The sun’s unforgiving on her skin, mid-summer heat nearly unbearable as Rey stands with the soldier-turned-guard who’s quickly become her friend. Finn himself has the same wrappings between his legs to preserve his modesty, and for the first time she’s allowed to gaze at the scar between his shoulder blades that relieved him from his duty. He’s strong elsewhere, chest broad and shoulders robust. His hands are warm like Poe’s as they cover hers. 

“I’ve never fought,” Rey says as Finn adjusts her hold on the weapon she’d been given. 

“As I expected,” he replies. “You’ll learn.” 

“Is it necessary?” 

“Yes,” he insists, smiling. She likes his smile. It’s just as kind as Poe’s. “For protection, should you need it. You’re more valuable than you think.”

He sends her running, to test the strength in her legs. There isn’t much, admittedly; on Jakku her activities were limited to those of the temple. But now, given the opportunity to sprint around the training ground, she runs like she had when she was young, free from duties and worry. She returns from her three laps around the training ground grinning, beaming as Finn nods in approval. 

She learns to hold the weapon, and learns that it can stab as well as cut and block. He has her stab the air until her arms ache, and then Rey’s being sent back to her quarters to scrape the sweat and dust of the training ground from her skin. 

Her heart’s racing, and her hair’s sticking to her forehead, but she grins as she thanks the guard, laughing as she nearly drops the sword in her exhaustion. 

-

On the fifteenth day, she sits with Poe again. She lets him hold her hands, lets his thumbs and fingertips brush along her skin. There are callouses there, now, from the training in the courtyard with Finn. He’s an accomplished swordsman, and she’s learning quickly, much to everyone’s pleasure. 

Now, though, her hands are for feeling, not fighting.

“He’ll be slow,” Poe tells her. “He’ll be gentle. He’s good like that.” 

So he says. But Rey’s seen the finger marks on the her friend’s hips, seen the bites across his shoulders and neck, heard the slap of skin against skin as she lingers in the doorway leading out to the private courtyard. She’s heard the pleasured moans, yes, but she wonders if it’s really that good. 

“It’s different, for me,” he explains. 

She doesn’t need to ask how, she knows very well how it’s different. Different parts, different pleasurable spots, different beings entirely. The Emperor’s learned how to please a male lover. She wonders if he knows how to please a female one. 

“He’s not callous,” he says, as the sun dips lower behind the walls. “If you tell him to stop, he will stop. He will listen to you. I promise.” 

Poe promises a lot of things.

-

She falls from one of the apple trees. 

It’s foolish and childish to cry over the blood coming from her knee, the dirt coating her skin, the mix of the two on the fabric of her dress. But it happens anyway, because Rey can so clearly remember the last time something like this had happened, and it was so long ago and she was free and young and careless. Tears stain her cheeks before she hurriedly wipes them away, stumbling a bit before Finn scoops her up wordlessly.

He carries her back, the rich fabric of her tunic snagging slightly along the ridges of his armor. But his arms are strong and his skin warm, smile sweet and eyes slightly worried as he carries her through the open doors into the Emperor’s chambers. 

Poe fusses over her immediately, bending as she lifts the fabric up so he can examine her injury. “You could’ve broken something,” he scolds before turning to Finn and saying something in Latin. The guard nods and disappears, walking back out through the courtyard to cut through to the servants’ quarters. 

“But I didn’t,” she retorts. “I’m fine.” 

She’s still fine as he kneels before her, cloth and bowl of water beside him as she sits on a chair and lets her wound be cleaned. There’s scraped skin and it stings as he dabs at it, but soon the old blood and dirt is scrubbed away and fresh blood comes forth and he swipes honey along her skin.

What she isn’t expecting is for him to swipe his lips across her bloodied skin, as well. 

“Poe-“ Rey starts, trying to keep from jerking back at the very blatant display of affection. Is it even allowed? Are they allowed this? 

“It heals better,” Poe says simply, pressing more kisses along her scraped flesh before pulling back. “Be more careful. Keep Finn closer.” 

The wound heals quickly, but the sensation of his lips against her skin doesn’t fade as quickly as the marks. 

-

It’s cooler. The rain’s been falling from the sky for two days now, and everything has developed a sort of chill from the water. She’s cold in her peplos, thin fabric traded from some other land far from where they are. She can’t even imagine how Poe’s feeling in his strange garment from somewhere North, covering his legs individually in thick linen with a belt around his waist. He refuses to wear a tunic today, body littered with the marks of the Emperor. The larger man had come three nights ago, and the bruises remain even now as he goes off to meet with traders along the upper coast. 

She stands in the doorway leading outside, arms crossed and eyes watching as the water falls down in sheets, almost drowning the gardens in the courtyard. She shivers as the cool air brushes through, wondering if she should slip into the warm water of their bath for the second time that day. She’d woken freezing, and asked for hot water as soon as someone else in the palace was awake to help her. 

“You’re cold.” 

“Yes,” she says simply. She misses her collection of somewhat-holey blankets back on Jakku, the little nest she’d made when the rain came and cooled everything off, made the marble of the temple chilled. 

She startles when she feels hands on her arms, but relaxes soon after into the familiar touch of her friend. 

“It’s me,” Poe says, as if it would be anyone else. 

She says nothing as his hands move up and down her arms, running along the soft hairs there that are sticking up with the chill. His skin’s slightly warmer than hers, and she’s grateful for it as he tries to heat her with his touch. She indulges a bit, leaning back against him. His chest is warm against her back, and she hums as he continues to hold her. She lets her arms fall and he moves down to brush her fingers with his before moving back up to her bare shoulders, repeating the cycle over and over until she doesn’t feel like shivering anymore. 

“Thank you,” she says, hoping he doesn’t take it as a dismissal. 

He doesn’t. “I’d hate to have you be cold,” he replies, and though she can’t see it as she looks out at the falling rain, she can hear the smile in his voice.

-

“You pleasure yourself.” 

It’s not a question. She’s heard him in the bedchambers several times when the Emperor was gone, stepping into the main room after training with Finn to bathe the sweat off. All too often she’s heard his moans, and stepped right back out to find the guard for another hour of activity.

“Yes,” he replies. She’s leaning back against him with his legs parted to accommodate her, her back to his chest as she plucks dried fruit from the bowl in her lap and offers it back to him. If he doesn’t take it, she does, eating the sweet treats and humming at their taste. 

“How?” she asks.

There’s silence following, and she hates herself for asking a question like that. She’s curious, too curious, and now he’s quiet behind her and still and not taking the date she’s offering back to him. 

“Forget it,” she mumbles, taking the date and shoving it between her lips to keep herself from talking again. 

“No, I’m wondering if you’re asking me how I pleasure myself, or if you’re asking me how you can pleasure yourself,” Poe replies, and he sounds genuinely confused at the embarrassing dilemma. 

“Both?” she offers, once she’s swallowed the fruit. 

“Well, as to how I pleasure myself, I could show you, but that might be a bit far for now,” he admits, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. She hums at the gesture, taking another date. “As to how to pleasure yourself… well, I can explain that, if you’d like.” 

“Yes,” she replies, perhaps a bit too quickly and with her mouth full. 

“Well,” he starts, and then he stops. “… actually, I’m not sure how to explain it.” 

“Have you ever pleasured a woman?” she asks, frowning as the possibility strikes her suddenly. 

“I have,” he insists, slightly defensive. “I’ve just … never thought about it in terms of how one would do it herself. There are things that another person can do to pleasure a woman that she can’t do alone.” 

“That’s not helpful.” 

She yelps as she feels his teeth on her shoulder, scraping ever so slightly along her skin. It tickles more than hurts and she swats at where his hand’s beside her. She can hear his chuckle against her shoulder, and the press of his lips as he kisses her skin before pulling back. 

“Grab me a fig,” Poe says, and Rey reaches forward to grab one of the fruits, offering a half to him. He shifts, and she stares down at the red fruit as he adjusts it in his hands. 

“All right,” he starts. “Pretend this is between your legs.” 

“Pretend a fig’s between my legs,” she says flatly, raising an eyebrow at him in disbelief. What is he doing?

“No,” he says sternly, though she can hear that he’s trying hard not to laugh. “I’m going to try and show you without touching you. The fig’s what I’m going to show you on.” 

“You’re strange.” 

“Says the woman who lives off of apples, oil, and bread, and climbs trees like a beast,” Poe mutters, brushing his lips against her shoulder again. “All right.” 

“Does it look like that?” 

“No, Rey, it looks like what it’s supposed to look like,” he says, sounding slightly exasperated. “Do you want to know or not?” 

“Yes,” she says quickly, because she does. It’s just that teasing him is also very fun. 

“All right.” 

She watches as he drags two fingers down the seeds of the fig. “Be gentle,” he mutters, lips against her shoulder. “Have you ever touched yourself?” 

“To clean,” she explains, and he hums. 

“Good.” He slips his fingers up to the top of the fig, near the stem. “Towards the top, there’s a soft bump, all right? You’ll feel it when you find it. Press that, touch it, dab it, rub it. Find what you like. Every woman, in my experience, is different.”

“That makes it sound like you’ve pleasured many,” Rey remarks. 

“Who’s to say I haven’t?” Poe asks, and she can hear the smirk in his voice.

She watches his fingers dab at the top of the red fruit, presumably how she should touch herself. Bump. All right. “And it feels good?” 

“So I’ve heard,” he replies. “I don’t exactly have one.” 

“What does it feel like?” 

“It’s hard to say. It feels like … waves rolling, and then finally cresting and breaking along the shore. I take it you’re familiar with waves?” His tone’s teasing. “After spending your life amongst them.”

She slaps at his knee. “Poe.” 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles. “You’ll know it when you feel it, all right?” 

“And inside?” She knows that’s a part of it, knows where the Emperor will go when the time comes, knows what happens. 

“Later,” Poe replies. “Try just touching first, explore, have fun.” 

His fingers stroke the fruit one more time before he’s offering it to her. She takes his fingers instead, holding his wrist and licking a stripe from his palm up to his sticky fingers. 

“By the gods, Rey,” he mutters as she sucks the juice from his skin. “He won’t know what to do with you.” 

She’s not entirely sure how to take that comment, but she enjoys the salty-sweet flavor of the juice on his skin, and releases his hand before taking the fig and biting into it.

-

The Emperor’s still absolutely terrifying. 

He’s somehow even more terrifying in just a crown upon his dark waves, a dark tunic, and sandals than he had been in the armor he’d worn when he’d seized her. Before, the power had been in the armor, in the large helmet and the sword he’d held. Now, it’s all him. And she hates it. 

She stands beside him as he addresses those brought forward to him for their crimes. Poe says it was rare to have crime before, but with the acquisition of new territory people are acting out against the Empire. There have been acts of arson, twice in the past ten days, and the guilty men stand before the Emperor now.   
His voice booms through the hall, though in private she knows he is soft-spoken, at least towards Poe. He’s hardly spoken a word to her.

She watches as men are led away one by one, having been dealt their fateful hand. Poe’s on the other side of the Emperor, straight and tall and proud and handsome. She casts glances towards him on occasion, noticing his clenched jaw and his hands clasped behind his back and his stiff shoulders. 

She can remember his fingers against the fig, his lips against her shoulder and his smile against her skin. 

He doesn’t look like that man now, looking instead like a statue, chiseled and perfect as he stares blankly out towards the three men being charged. 

Her gaze shifts to the Emperor. The way his full lips bark the fate of those in front of him. The way his eyes are hard, dark brows furrowed. 

He doesn’t look like a man who’d touch her kindly, either. 

If Poe can be both ways, perhaps the Emperor can as well, though she loathes the thought of when he finally settles between her legs. She narrows her eyes at the powerful man, watching as he delivers the cowering man’s sentence without any sort of hesitation. 

Perhaps.

She wouldn’t call the feeling blooming in her chest hope, but it’s something like that, sweet and still a little scared.

-

The air’s warm and a bit wet from the evening rain when she decides to slip her hand between her legs. 

Poe and the Emperor are sleeping soundly in the other room. She’s been sleeping on the cushions on the floor of the living room, on the couches until the Emperor decides to bring her into his bed. On the occasions when he’s gone, she sleeps in the Emperor's with Poe, his body hot next to hers and bedhead wild in the morning. She misses it when the Emperor’s staying, misses waking up next to her friend. 

She can hear the couple in the other room, soft snores and gentle shuffles - both completely asleep, minds seized by Morpheus. She waits a few heartbeats before trying, hand moving between her thighs. With Poe’s assistance and the stone he’d given her, she’d removed most of the curls that once covered the apex of her thighs. The skin’s far from smooth, but it’s easier to feel where her lips part. 

Her skin’s hot. She’d expected it to be warm, at the very least, since her skin’s usually warm from the sun and general activity, but the flesh here feels legitimately hot. She frowns, fingers grazing along her lips as she tries to find the bump that Poe had told her about. 

The thought of his fingers being there instead of her own is sharp and terrifying in its suddenness, and she nearly gasps at the mental image her brain produces for her. She bites her lip to keep quiet, eyes turned towards the ceiling. There’s a painting there, she knows, but she can’t even begin to see it in the darkness.   
She can just feel her entrance, but she skips over it, moving right up towards where Poe’d directed her. 

Her fingers bump against something - a small, hot bump - and immediately she nearly bucks at the soft touch. She does gasp aloud, and stops directly after, hips still slightly lifted as she freezes and waits for one of them to find her like this. 

Another snore, soft and low, and then a deeper one, a bit rougher. 

They’re still asleep. 

She uses her other hand to muffle her gasps, biting into the meat of her thumb as she runs her fingers along the bump again. So this is what pleasure is like. A jolt, a sharp tingle, scalding like that time she’d been foolish enough to touch the burning flame of the torch around the temple, childish curiosity getting the better of her with no one to tell her ‘no’. 

There’s no one telling her ‘no’ here, either. In fact, if Poe was to find her, she’s fairly certain he’d urge her on. 

Maybe he’d watch. 

The thought sends another jolt through her without even moving her fingers, and her cheeks flush even more as she bites into her thumb harder. 

Something tells her to circle it, so she does, using two fingers and rubbing at her flesh. Her hips buck again, though this time she doesn’t stop the movement, letting her feet brace against the cold floor. There’s no purchase to be found, and the ball of her foot actually skits along the marble. She pays no mind to it, just bringing it back and spreading her legs further in an attempt to make the pleasure deeper, harder. 

She tries to go faster. Poe was right; it does feel like something building, like a wave about to crest. She’s not sure how high it goes, how big it will become before it – or she – breaks and crashes back down again. She’s not there yet, she doesn’t think, it’s pleasurable but not enough. 

Rey understands the moans now. It’s hard to keep quiet, and she exhales harder through her nose in the need to make some sort of noise. It’s soft enough that they won’t hear her. 

The crest takes her by surprise, a few heartbeats after her fingers start to ache from the unusual amount of activity, the pressing and the rubbing and the hard angle of it. She bites and sucks hard against the meat of her thumb, sure to leave a hard mark tomorrow as her eyes widen and she shakes, foot slipping against the marble with a harsh ‘squeak’ sound. She prays to the gods that they haven’t heard, that they won’t find her like this, trembling on the cushions like a leaf in the wind and in awe of her own body. 

She smells it, then. Something deep and musky, like Poe when he wakes, like Poe when he emerges from spending time with the Emperor. It’s scent she associates more with Poe than with sex, and though it’s not exactly the same, it’s close in its origin, she guesses. 

It’s stronger when she pulls her hand up, and that’s when she feels her fingers, skin damp. She frowns, touching the pads of her forefinger and middle finger to her thumb. 

Poe hadn’t said anything about this. 

Terrified she just pissed herself in whatever release she’d just had, she stands, but her legs only feel shaky, not wet. So that can’t be it. She checks the cushions beneath her as well, just in case. Nothing. 

Not piss, then. She frowns, bringing her hand closer to her face. That smell again. Sex, then. Her sex. 

Tired and slightly breathless, feeling some sort of bone-deep kind of sated, she reclines back on the couch she’s been using as a bed the past four nights, wiping her fingers on the material of the short tunic she’s wearing. She’ll ask Poe about it tomorrow, maybe. If she can gather up the courage to tell him what she’d done. 

She can’t bring herself to regret it. She only wishes that her fingers didn’t hurt, didn’t cramp. If they hadn’t, perhaps, she could’ve done it again.

-

She’s lived in the palace for thirty two days, and the Emperor still hasn’t touched her. Though she’s not sure she wants him to, the lack of interest in her is unnerving. Why take her so suddenly and cruelly from her home if he’s to do nothing with her?

Poe tells her it’s fine, that he’s not usually away this much. That Poe had an entire month to get used to his company before the Emperor even touched him. She doesn’t have that luxury, what little time is spent with the Emperor spent standing beside him during ceremonies and passing him in the halls, or acknowledging him before he disappears to be with Poe. 

They haven’t had a conversation, let alone a kiss. She doesn’t wish for one, exactly, her attitude towards the man still one of hatred, but she wishes for some confirmation that her capture was for something and not just in jest. 

The anticipation gnaws at her, and she’s fidgety as she plays with one of Poe’s rings, one he’d given her but one she still acknowledges as his. It’s a dreary day, drizzling slightly, and the rain from the day before has made the training grounds muddy and the branches of the orchard rain-slicked. 

She trained earlier, not letting a little mud stop her from achieving her goal of beating Finn in a fair fight. She hadn’t accomplished it, not yet, but she’s learning quickly and they had a good time laughing at their slipping and sliding in the slick mud. She’d returned to an amused Poe, the man shaking his head at the mud coating her body and streaking her face. 

After, not wanting to risk another fall from the trees in the orchards, she decided to stay in their chambers, thoughts drifting. It’s evening before anything of interest happens, the torches casting the room in golden light and stark shadows. 

The door opens with a loud ‘bang’, and she sits up from where she’d been reclining on the couch, eyes wide. The ring falls from her fingers as she watches Finn carry the Emperor in, the larger man’s arm draped around the guard’s shoulders. He’s bleeding sluggishly from his shoulder, a red gash along his pale skin.

“What happened?” Rey demands in her language, standing and rushing over. 

“It’s raining harder along the coast,” Poe explains from behind Finn and the Emperor. There’s another man Rey doesn’t know; the physician, she can assume, carrying cloth and oils and thread. Her heart seizes in her chest. “He didn’t see the attacker coming. The guards didn’t either.” 

“What attacker?” she demands, stepping aside as Finn guides the Emperor onto the floor of the sitting area, just a few paces from where she just was. He’s paler than usual, and she hears his pained grunt as Finn sets him down. Poe slips a cushion under his shoulders, propping him up for observation. She’s never seen Poe this pale, either.

“A rebel,” Poe explains once he has his lover settled. “His father was put into exile a week ago.” 

She glances towards the Emperor as the physician eases the damp fabric of his tunic from him. There’s another gash along his side, red and painful-looking. She intakes a breath sharply through her nose as the Emperor hisses through his teeth, mouth turning up into something feral before he relaxes as the fabric’s pried away. Then his face softens, eyes slipping closed as he lets the physician work.

“Sit with him,” Poe orders, jerking his head towards the wounded man. “It’s not serious, the rain was both a curse and a blessing. They didn’t see the attacker, but he didn’t see Ren well, either.” He meets her eyes. “This is why we train.”

She looks back towards the Emperor, who’s grimacing as the physician starts to clean the wound. It looks like a clean slice, a failed attempt at a stab, just grazing his side instead of going in between his ribs. 

“Go,” Poe mutters, walking over to where the Emperor is to help the physician. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen her friend so pale, so worried. She watches as Poe takes his lover’s hand, lifts it to his mouth to brush his lips across the man’s large palm. The Emperor’s gaze turns towards Poe, and her heart skips a beat at the warmth in the cruel man’s eyes. 

“Yes,” Rey replies, because it’s the only word she can think to say as she walks over. 

Finn remains, eyes darting to her as she settles in the only space where she’ll be out of the way, near the Emperor’s head. Poe is speaking to the physician in Latin; he’s speaking small, soft words, all questioning. The older man speaks back just as softly, nodding in thanks as Poe exchanges the bowl of dirty water for a new, clean one. Rey watches as they tend to the wound before her eyes snap to the Emperor’s face at his soft grunt of pain. 

She’s sitting with her legs to the side beside his head, and can see his face as he winces, hissing through his teeth as the physician dabs at the wound with a cloth. The new bowl of water must have something in it to help with the healing, the water cloudy, but she can tell that it also stings as he hisses again, grinding his teeth and clenching his eyes shut. 

She’s never seen him like this. She’s never seen him look so human. 

“His head.” 

Her gaze darts to Poe to find him looking at her. He nods towards the Emperor, and her eyes find where the man’s clenching his fingers along the marble floor in an attempt to take away from the pain. “Hold his head, stroke his hair,” Poe instructs. It’s said almost harshly, and she would be struck by his tone if she didn’t see how much this was affecting him. His face is hard, eyes moving from the physician’s hands to his lover’s face to her and back again. 

She does as ordered, moving to cross her legs. It’s with great care that she eases the Emperor’s head up and moves him into her lap. She runs her fingers through his dark hair, marveling at how soft it is. A flash of a thought has her imagining Poe’s fingers clenched in it, her own fingers holding the dark strands tight. The image disappears as soon as it had come as he grunts and winces again, cursing something in his own language. His nails scrape against the floor as the physician rubs something onto the wound to prevent infection. 

She does the best that she can, fingers moving through his hair and along his scalp. She’s not used to comforting anyone, not used to being comforted by anyone aside from Poe, so she has no idea what to do. Poe’s no help, his attention more on assisting the physician and his wounded lover than her. 

Rey reaches down, hand finding the Emperor’s cheek and running her thumb along his temple, trying to be comforting. She freezes up when his head turns and his nose is pressed to her wrist, his lips to her palm. 

This frightening man is kissing her hand, like Poe does. 

Perhaps there’s something to Poe’s promises after all. 

“Sol,” he mutters against her skin, and she has no idea what that word is, never having used it or heard it used. She knows trading terms, primarily. ‘Sol’ is not one of them. 

Poe’s gaze snaps to them, though, and she looks at him across the Emperor’s still form. The torches illuminate her friend’s face, casting some of it into shadow and making other parts look golden. She’s not entirely sure, but she thinks she can see the glimmer of a smile before he looks down and hands the physician another swath of bandages. 

-

“What did he call me?” she asks after, in the quiet of the sitting room as the Emperor lies in the bedroom, sleeping soundly. Poe is sitting behind her, holding her in his lap as they calm from the ordeal. 

“Sun. He called you the sun.”


	4. IV.

Thirty five days. 

The Emperor’s still healing. She hears him more than sees him get up and move around, and hears Poe’s resulting exasperated barking for him to lie back down. She smiles around her cut of bread as she sees Poe move back and forth beyond the curtains, saying, “No, no.” At least she knows that word. 

He emerges a few minutes after, sighing heavily and collapsing onto the couch next to her. “He’s impossible.” 

She hums as he moves, pulling her into his arms. She lets him take her, enjoying the feeling of his arms around her and the warmth he provides. She can feel the press of his necklaces, the few that he wears, against her chest as she leans against him, grabbing an apple from her stash and biting into it. “He’s not a good patient?” she asks around the flesh and meat of the fruit.

“The worst,” Poe admits. “Wants to continue as usual when he can’t even stand for more than a few moments.” 

His hand moves up and down her arm, loving and gentle. Her chewing slows as he presses a gentle kiss to her cheek. 

He’s always gentle with her, touch always soft and sweet and kind. That’s Poe, really, in all that he does. His smile had been bright when she told him of her slipping her own hand between her legs, and he’d been encouraging and understanding when she had more questions. 

She hasn’t told him that she’s thought of him since then, thought of his mouth on hers and his hand between her thighs instead of her own. She wonders if he’d leave bites like the Emperor, or if everything would be just as soft and sweet as his fingertips on her skin now. 

She relaxes against him as there’s rustling from the other room. 

“No,” Poe calls. 

She smiles just a bit at the light frustrated groan from the other room.

The Emperor’s not so cruel or so terrifying when he’s hurt.

-

She can’t quite despise him as much as she had before, not when she’s seen him as wounded as he was. Not when he called her ‘the sun’. Not when she’d been witness to his reluctance to sit in bed for more than an hour, stubborn to the point of it being humorous. 

She still hates him, though. Hates what he did to her, and what his men have done to the people of the island. What his men have done throughout the empire.

She comes across him exercising, training for the fights he will no doubt participate in as he struggles to control the empire. Rey has her arms full of irises as she walks through the halls, preferring the long way. Poe’s off somewhere, most likely with Finn and the other guards. Though she knows full well he’s faithful to the Emperor, she’s seen him exchanging flirtatious words with the other men. She’d shaken her head each time, unworried. 

She can hear grunting as she passes the training grounds, and stops when she sees the Emperor with his General. Her grip on her flowers tightens as she watches. 

They’re wrestling. Rey can see the gleam of sweat on the Emperor’s bare back as he grapples with the red-headed General, the man from somewhere North. The General is slimmer than the Emperor, but holds his own against the broad man. She watches, hidden mostly behind a column. 

She’s not unfamiliar with wrestling. It’s a common sport on Jakku, in the small dirt area outside the bathhouse. She’s seen the naked men grappling before, rolled her eyes as the younger boys mixed the rules and did as they pleased, sometimes resulting in more pain than fun. But she’s never seen the Emperor like this before. 

She’s seen Poe naked, plenty of times. The man’s not exactly modest. Rey’s somewhat grateful for it; it’s made her weak fantasies seem a bit more attainable, a bit more real. The man’s built like the heroes, and though she’s long past blushing when she sees him, she does feel a certain heat when he throws that smirk at her while unclothed. 

If Poe’s built like a hero, then the Emperor is god-like. His back and shoulders ripple with muscle that she hasn’t seen on Poe. She blinks at his firm, pale ass, thighs thick and strong as he braces himself against the ground for leverage. His arms are probably bigger than her head, and it makes her clench her flowers tight enough to snap some of the stems. He lets out a low growl that’s more beast than man, and she watches as the General hits the ground with his shoulder. 

From her position, she can’t see what’s between the Emperor’s legs, but she can guess his size by the rest of him. She watches as they untangle themselves, the Emperor offering the General his hand to get him up from the ground. She bites her lip, the want for him to turn around so she can see sudden like a spark.

The thought makes her cheeks flame, and she curses lowly in Greek as she turns and walks back towards their chambers to put the flowers in water. 

When she sees him later, he’s in his finery again, and she can’t take her eyes away from his strong arms and broad shoulders. He holds himself proudly, towering over most. His voice is deep and loud as well, and she winces at the volume of it as it echoes along the marble walls of the hall. 

Exile, he declares, of the older man below him who struggles against the hands of the guards. She glances towards him, noting his hard gaze and stiff form.

She still hates him. 

-

Zeus is certainly mad about something. The storm’s been going on for two days now, and she hates it. She’s been keeping inside, annoyed that she can’t train with Finn like she wishes to but grateful that they don’t have to worry about the water flooding them like on Jakku. She was on the hill, in the temple, but when the storm had passed and she returned to town more often than not she’d find destroyed homes, destroyed ships, destroyed lives. 

She feels safer here, in the chambers with Poe. Safe, but also incredibly bored.

They’d played knucklebones earlier, but the pieces have been abandoned on the floor for hours. They’re just sitting, now, curled up on the couches. Rey watches as the rain falls outside, one of the curtains pulled back and allowing her to watch the water hit the marble of the courtyard. 

“Do you like it here?” 

She turns, head snapping around as she looks over at Poe, who’s across the room. In the warm light of the fire, he looks almost ethereal; his skin appears golden and makes him seem more god than human as he watches her. He has both her short sword and his next to him, as well as the Emperor’s armor, and a worn cloth in his hand as he rubs oil onto the metal to prevent it from rusting in the wet weather. Her new javelin, a heavy thing of wood and metal that she’s still getting used to, leans against the side of the couch he’s seated on. She likes it a bit better than her sword, though she has to get used to its weight in her hand. It’s been a long time since she’s used something like it. 

“Yes,” she replies. 

“More than Jakku?” 

She hesitates at that for a moment before answering, “Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“You.” 

His surprised expression tells her he’d been expecting another answer. “Me?” 

“You’re kinder than any man on Jakku,” she explains. “You’ve been understanding and caring as I settle in and find my place. You’ve done everything you can to ease my fears about my future here, and you’ve been sweet to me. Yes, you.” 

She can see his smile in the firelight, can see the way his arms open to her, a wordless invitation as he sets the weaponry aside. She stands immediately, walking over and settling beside him. He gathers her to him, and she didn’t realize that her skin was chilled until he presses against her, warm. Content, she leans her head on his shoulder, listening to the rain pounding on the roof and the stones of the courtyard. 

The kiss they share is a soft, chaste thing. Lasting maybe two heartbeats, it’s the simple press of her lips to his in a burst of courage. She needs to show him, needs to let him know how much she cares for him. He’s been letting her know how much he cares for her in soft touches and gentle caresses, little gestures of affection and kindness, and she thinks it’s time for her to do the same. 

If he thinks it wrong or strange, he says nothing. He presses back, she thinks, and his arm tightens around her as she pulls back a bit. 

It was nice. She thinks she might want to do it again, so she does. 

The sound of their mouths meeting over and over nearly drowns out the sound of the rain for her.

-

The Emperor returns two days later. 

He’s a bit rougher, a bit dirtier, with a few scrapes and bumps. When she returns from the gardens with Finn, the moon high in the sky, he’s already taken Poe to bed. 

She’s alone, again. 

This time, it’s not exactly easier, but she reaches her peak faster. She’s done it several times now, knows just how hard and fast to move her fingers, knows the angle and that she prefers circles over anything else. 

She thinks of Poe, his mouth on hers. His mouth on her shoulders, on her neck, on her breasts – his mouth where her hand is, currently. 

It’s easier to imagine it, now, after they’ve kissed. She knows how warm his lips are, how soft. She knows how his stubble feels beneath her fingertips, knows how his hand feels on her hip as he holds her close. They’ve kissed since the storm, and though he’s touched her hip and her waist and pulled her against him, he’s been kind and hasn’t touched further. A part of her wishes he would, wants him to touch her like he touches the Emperor, like he’s touched the women he sometimes references in passing. 

She wants him to touch her like he loves her. 

Rey allows herself pleasure twice, breathing slightly harder and fingers wet with her own slick when she pulls them back. 

It’s just a flash of a thought, the slightest bit of curiosity as she pants against the couch, hand clenched in the blankets. She wonders, for a second, how the Emperor kisses, before she’s disgusted with the thought and huffs in annoyance at her own mind.

-

“He wishes to speak with you.” 

Rey looks up from her breakfast, her mouth full as Poe steps into the room. He’s covered in mud from the recent storm, the air still damp and the ground still wet. He must’ve wrestled, she thinks, taking in his bare form and the obvious finger-shaped streaks through the mud on his skin. 

She swallows quickly as he moves into the bathroom, taking the strigil and the oil from the nearby table. “Who does?” she calls, though she already knows the answer. She stands, grabbing another hunk of bread and chewing it as she approaches the bath.

“The Emperor. He wishes for an audience with you,” Poe explains, trying hard to suppress his smile as he scrapes the grime from his skin. Rey watches, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the wall. 

“Does he wish to speak with me, or does he want an audience with me? Which one is it?” she asks, voice harsh. 

Poe looks up, gaze meeting hers, and smirks. “Whichever one will get you to talk with him,” he admits. 

“Neither. I won’t speak to him.” 

“Shame, then,” Poe says as he straightens and shucks the collection of oil and mud into the basin beside him. He runs the strigil up the back of his leg. “And he was so excited about it, too.”

“How can he be excited about something he isn’t certain is to happen?” she demands, eyes narrowing at her friend as he continues to scrape himself. 

“He’d hoped,” Poe clarifies as he stands, fixing her with a look she’s never seen him wear before. It’s stern, and a bit … judgmental, she supposes is the best word she can find for it. “You were excited about returning to the island. That wasn’t certain to happen. And that didn’t happen. And yet you hoped, and were excited for it. He’s a man, Rey, not a god who can predict everyone and everyone’s decisions.” He returns to scraping, a little more vigorously now. 

She watches, heart sinking just a bit. The Emperor. Excited to speak with her. “Why does he want to speak to me?” she asks, voice a little softer. 

“He wishes to get to know you. He’s happy we’re so close, but he wishes it for himself, too. He’s a bit jealous.” Poe’s lips quirk up into a smirk again. 

“He wishes for the impossible,” Rey mutters. 

“You say that now,” Poe teases. 

“I will say that for as long as I live. I have no desire for the Emperor to speak to me, touch me, or love me.” Her harsh tone sends her words bouncing along the stone walls, and Poe stops the scraping of his arm as he looks up at her. And then he shrugs, and resumes cleaning. 

“You could have been captured by one of the generals and made his bride, instead. And trust me, some of them are not so kind. You’re still a virgin. They would have changed that in a matter of days. How long have you been with us? And yet…” 

Her blood runs cold as she watches him set the strigil aside and step into the bath, already filled and warm. His gaze is just as heated as he looks towards her again, and she suddenly feels very small.

“I’m not going to force you to speak with him, and neither is he. But the man called you the sun. Shine a little for him, won’t you?” he asks, smiling at his own little quip as he reaches for the perfumed oil by the side of the tub. 

She finds herself offering a little quip of a smile back, looking down at her toes and remembering back when they were black from soot and sand and dirt, from being dragged across the island to the ship. 

_The man called you the sun._

-

Her apparent worshipper greets her the day after. 

She’s sweaty, dust and dirt clinging to her skin as she returns from training with Finn. Her muscles ache and her lungs burn, but her smile is bright as she feels the guard clap her lightly on the shoulder. “Thank you,” she breathes to his commandment of how quickly she’s picking up the javelin, and she throws one more grin his way before she’s stepping through into the Emperor’s rooms. 

“How was training?” 

The javelin nearly falls from her grip, and her head whips round. Her gaze finds the Emperor on one of the couches. Waiting for her, it seems. 

“Fine,” she replies quickly, word falling from her lips like a spark as she sets the javelin against the wall. “How was conquering and murdering?” 

Harsh, she thinks, but that is exactly what he does. She huffs as she walks into the bathroom and grabs the strigil and oil so violently the oil nearly splashes over onto her hands. 

She can hear the slap of his sandals as he makes his way to the bath, and her heart skips in her chest as she waits for him to appear, to watch her clean. But he never does. His footsteps stop just outside the door. “I spoke with the city’s engineers on how to provide water to more of the impoverished communities.” 

“How kind of you,” Rey snarls, and hisses as she nearly cuts herself with the harshness of her scrape. 

“Are you well?” 

“Fine,” she snaps. 

There’s silence on the other side of the wall, and then she hears his footsteps walk away, back towards the couches. Relieved, she waits for the door to close, for something to tell her that he is leaving, but there’s no sound. 

She sighs as she continues to bathe quickly, dressing in the peplos that one of the women set out for her and walking barefoot back to the couches. 

She can see the wine set out, and the bread and fruits. Her favorites, dates and honey with the bread she’s come to love. It’s a bribe, she just knows as she watches him attempt to look at ease and fail miserably. 

It’s the first time she’s really seen him, really looked at his face up close since his head was in her lap and his lips on her palm. His face is young, but his eyes are old, and a bit sad as he watches her sit across from him. She bites her lip, looking to the cup of wine he already poured for her, and taking it. Training left her thirsty, and the idea of a drink is too appealing to pass up. She takes a sip, and he continues to watch her as she drinks. 

“Poe said you wished to speak to me,” she breathes once she had her fill, licking her lips of the wine. 

“He’s not wrong,” the Emperor admits. “I wish to get to know you.” 

“There’s not much of me to know,” Rey says, a bit snappish as she reaches for a pit of bread. “You took me from the only home I’ve known. My parents left and never came back for me, and so I turned to the temple. I spent the majority of my life alone, and waiting for them to come back before I accepted they never would. And that is all you need to know of me.” 

He’s quiet for a moment as she rips a piece of bread from the loaf before her, and then to her surprise he stands and makes his way towards the door.  
His exit is dramatic, the slam of the door echoing along the walls. When Poe returns an hour or so later, his eyes are cold. 

“It didn’t go well,” he says. It’s not a question. 

She’d expected to feel proud of her defiance, and relief that the Emperor left her so soon into their attempt at a conversation. But there’s a nag of regret, and shame as Poe moves by her to pour a cup of wine for himself. For as different as he had made her life, she can't deny that he'd made it ... better. She has a roof over her head that doesn't leak, and she has nice clothes and more food than she could ever imagine. 

And she has Poe.

 _Shine a little for him,_ her friend had said. 

She’s entirely sure she’d dimmed, instead. 

-

There’s another act of arson, and one murder. The sentencing’s short, only two men having broken the law recently. She watches as, for the first time, the Emperor sentences the murderer to death. 

She can feel her skin break out in a cold sweat as the words are delivered. Death. She knows this word, has heard it a handful of times on the island from traders on less-than-lucky ships. Her heart stills in her throat, and her eyes dart to Poe to see if he’d heard the same. 

He says nothing, expression carefully composed as the Emperor stands and walks away, the ruler’s word final. 

Poe follows immediately, but she lingers for a moment longer, eyes towards the man who’d killed another. She watches as he slumps in the hands of the guards, and is taken away. He’ll be strung up at dawn in three days. She knows the punishment enough. The idea of it makes her feel nauseated. 

Poe and the Emperor are nowhere in sight by the time she steps down and starts towards their chambers. A part of her wants to go and train, but that would require changing into her breast band and loincloth. She sighs softly, hating how her chest feels hollow as she steps through the door. 

Rey stops in the doorway, staring at the couple embracing before her. 

For once, the Emperor looks small, miniscule compared to his consort. Poe’s sitting on one of the couches, the Emperor kneeling on the floor before him. His upper body’s in his lover’s lap, and Poe’s muttering softly in Latin as the Emperor presses his face into Poe’s stomach. Poe’s hands are running along his upper back. It’s a comforting gesture, and she wonders why the Emperor would need to be comforted. It’s only when he turns his cheek that she sees the tears on his skin, and her eyes widen.

He mutters something in Latin. She hears the words ‘father’ and ‘child’ and ‘death’. She can’t make sense of the context, can’t wrap her head around whether the man he’d sentenced had killed his father and his child, or was a father with a child. But either way, something must’ve had an effect on the powerful man who’s slumped over in his lover’s lap.

She watches, struck by the emotion he so rarely shows, as the Emperor tilts his head up and accepts a kiss from Poe. It’s soft, and sweet, and so strikingly human that she’s shocked still as she watches the two men. Poe’s hands cup the Emperor’s cheeks before sliding into his hair, guiding him upwards. Before she can blink, the Emperor’s up with his hands braced against the couch, caging Poe in. 

Realizing the nature of their actions, she watches for half a heartbeat more as she witnesses another sweet kiss between the two, the Emperor’s hand finding Poe’s cheek before he settles and kneels between Poe’s legs. 

She turns and goes, heading towards the gardens as swiftly as she can with flaming cheeks.

-

Fifty days. Fifty days, and not one more attempt at a conversation. Poe’s irritation that she didn’t try didn’t last more than an hour before he leaned over and kissed her cheek. Her own irritation with herself hasn’t faded, though, and she wonders when she started to sympathize for the man who grabbed her and treated her so unkindly. 

The same man who kissed her hand and called her the sun, the same men who asked about her wellbeing and gave her privacy as she bathed. The same man who collapsed to his consort’s knees after a difficult sentence. The same man who had given her Poe. 

_No._ The man who took her, she decides as she avoids stepping on yet another twig else she get a splinter in her skin.

She wanders the orchards, now. Finn has training today and, for once, she didn’t wish to join him. So she has no supervision as she walks through the green grass, barefoot with her sandals in her hands. 

Her feet carry her through the trees, and she runs the fingers of her free hand along the rough bark of a large apple tree, one of the ones with poor branches for climbing but the best shade. She looks down, careful to avoid the softer apples that have fallen and fed the wildlife, and startles when she hears the snap of a twig to her left. 

The hulking form of a man comes around the large trunk of the tree, and she shrieks in surprise. She steps back, her foot finding a fallen apple. It rolls back and she slips back with it, the fruit rolling away quickly as she’s knocked back onto her ass for the second time in his presence. 

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Rey can see him now. She’s surprised she didn’t recognize him before; few men around here are as broad as the Emperor, even fewer as tall as him, too. 

“Are you all right?” he asks, and she’s startled at his tone. It’s not his usual voice, not one he’s used with her before. This time it’s low and soft, almost sweet. Like when he’d called her the sun. She tries to ignore the skip in her chest, passing it off as an after effect of being scared half to death.

“Fine,” she says, and it comes out a bit more snappishly than she’d intended it to. She’s pushing herself up when she sees the large hand he’s offering her and stops, looking up at him. 

He’s not dressed in his finery. There’s no color to his wool tunic, no embellishment. He looks like a commoner, like the poorer traders on Jakku. She takes his hand and lets him pull her up, his arm barely moving with the effort. 

His hand’s cool, a contrast to Poe’s warm skin. She holds it only for as long as she needs to, letting go quickly and watching as he pulls back, hand dropping to his side. She clasps hers in front of her, still holding her sandals. She’s unsure of what to say, or if she should say anything at all. 

“Walk with me,” he says, and she knows better than to object the Emperor, so she nods and walks alongside him as he walks further into the trees. Her chest feels tight, heart in her throat as she walks with him. 

She casts glances towards the man out of the corner of her eye. He’s calm, surprisingly, and she realizes that he’s shortening his strides for her. If he were to walk normally, he’d be several steps away at this point. He’s waiting for her. She’s not entirely sure why that makes her like him just a bit more, but she quips a smile ever so slightly.

“You enjoy it here?” he asks. He’s trying again, she realizes. Trying to speak with her, to make conversation. To get to know her.

“Yes,” she says simply.

“You like Poe.” 

“He is kind,” she explains, unsure why she’s giving him more than one word. But Poe … she could talk about Poe for hours, if prompted. She finds herself smiling as she thinks of him. “Kinder than any other man I’ve known.” It’s the truth. The men on Jakku were never kind to her, the few times she encountered them in the market. 

The Emperor says nothing, and they go a few more paces without speaking to each other. 

She glances to him out of the corner of her eye, and tries to find it in herself to say something scathing. But any heat that comes from her head dies on her tongue, turning to ash, and she finds that she can’t find hateful words for him. Not after everything. Not anymore. 

“You haven’t touched me,” she says, suddenly, eyes on the ground so she can avoid the rotting fruit the gardeners and wildlife have yet to take away. “Do you regret bringing me here?” 

It takes her a few heartbeats and half a dozen steps to realize that he’s stopped behind her, and she turns to watch him. 

He looks surprised at her words. “No,” he replies. “I don’t.” 

“Then why take me and declare me as your lover if you won’t touch me?” Again, it comes out harsher than she’d intended, and she almost winces as he moves again, stepping closer to her. 

“Do you want me to touch you?” 

It sounds like a demand, his voice hard like when he’s dealing fate to those who’ve disobeyed the law to extreme degrees. Her heart stops for a second. 

“Yes,” she says, before she can fully think of her answer. The word just falls from her lips before she can comprehend it, before she can debate what she’s agreeing to. Her breath stutters as he steps towards her, as he becomes closer than he’s been since he was wounded, his head in her lap. “Otherwise I am of no use to you.” 

His entire being seemingly turns to stone, his body freezing mid-step and his face turning into one of shock, and then anger. “Do you think I brought you here so that you could be used?” 

She stares up at him, his breath hot as it fans across her face. Oh, he is tall, and broad, and big, and she feels very very small beneath his gaze as it hardens a bit. “Why else would you bring me?” 

“Because you deserve more than a dusty little temple on an island that could very well be washed away by a slightly-too-big wave at any moment.” It’s nearly a growl. “You would be returning to a life worth nothing.”

“My life had meaning before I came here,” she protests. 

“Tending to a temple no one visited and living a life of solitude. You said it yourself. You spent the majority of your life alone. Forgive me if I wanted to give you something else.” 

“You can’t possibly be that selfless,” she snarls. “A man who murders and rapes and conquers what is not his.”

“I have never laid a hand upon a man or woman without their approval.” 

“You laid one upon me!” 

“And yet you just asked me to touch you, and I have not, because I know you did not mean for it.” 

She stops, staring up at him. He hasn’t gotten any closer than he had since they started this, and he’s right. He hasn’t touched her, save for that first day. 

He will be gentle, Poe said. He’ll be slow. He’ll listen. 

That he has. 

“You can’t be that selfless,” she repeats, voice a little softer now. 

“No. I’m not. I do want you. There, does that ease your conscience?” he bites back. 

“If you want me, then why haven’t you touched me?” she demands, challenging him once more as she looks up into dark eyes nearly blown black in their closeness. 

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asks, once more. 

“Yes,” she says, again, sounding a bit more sure of herself now. 

He’s a handsome man, in body and in face. She knows this full well. Dark eyes, full lips, pale skin dotted with dark marks. He’s close enough that she could count them if she wanted, connect them with her fingers. She hates herself for having the urge to do so.

He grabs her waist, pulls her against him. He’s not like Poe, she can’t feel the warmth of him through her thin tunic. His grip’s firm, chest hard as she’s tugged against it. 

He doesn’t kiss like Poe, either. 

Poe kisses like a creek, soft and gentle and warmed by the sun. The Emperor kisses like the sea during a storm, rough and unforgiving. She understands Poe’s analogy, now.

With Poe, there’s an element of safety. She knows he won’t touch her if she doesn’t want to, knows that he’ll pull back if she says for him to stop. And though Poe promised that the Emperor would as well, she’s wondering if he truly will as he backs her up, pushing her against the bark of one of the trees she’s become fond of. 

She drops her sandals and reaches up to grab at his shoulder, surprising herself by pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. Poe doesn’t use teeth, but she knows the Emperor does from the marks he’s left on Poe’s skin. He uses them now, nipping at her lower lip as she gasps into his mouth. Her arm wraps around his shoulders, keeping herself steady as he continues to kiss her. 

There’s heat even though he lacks the warmth Poe has. She can feel it between her legs, between their mouths as he bites at her. As different as it is from the man she’s usually with, she doesn’t want him to stop, gods, no, not when he’s only just started. All of the anger and anxiety that had started to seep into her bones fizzles and fades like sparks, replaced with the same curiosity that’s been getting stronger since she’d seen him on the training grounds. His hand is tight on her hip, gripping it through the fabric of her skirt. The bark of the tree scrapes along her skin through the open back of her tunic, the fabric held on her shoulders by gold pins. She pays the scratches no mind as she buries her hand in the soft hair she’d stroked before, trying to pull him closer. 

In her fantasies, though few and far between and fleeting when she realized what she was doing, she’d imagined him like Poe, soft and sweet. The kiss to her wrist and the kisses she’s seen him give Poe hadn’t given her much to go on, but she’d based his actions on that bit of affection, the one touch he’d given her and her observations. She couldn’t have been more wrong. 

She’s panting by the time he pulls back, brushing his full lips along her jaw. On instinct she tips her head, allowing him to kiss at her neck. He doesn’t bite as she’d expected him to, but he does cover the entirety of her neck and jaw and some of her chest in hot, open-mouthed kisses. Her hand clenches in his hair, smooth strands curling around his fingers. She wonders if Poe could be like this, too, or if they’re different enough that they fit together perfectly. One rough, one soft, evening each other out like weights on scales. 

“Ren!”

She recognizes the voice of the General, and wonders how long the man’s been looking for the Emperor of he managed to get this deep into the orchards.

The kiss he brushes against her lips as he pulls away is laughably innocent. With that, he’s gone, leaving her against the trunk of the tree, concealed somewhat by the dark shade as he turns and walks towards the General. 

Poe asks her how she’d gotten the scratches on her back. She lies and tells him she’d scraped it along the tree while climbing it. Self-hatred is quick and relentless, and she loathes herself for submitting so quickly to the taller man.

She decides she’ll tell him later of the way the Emperor kissed her, of the heat between her legs and his grip on her hip. Of how she, despite logic and every single part of her screaming in defiance, wishes she’d confronted him earlier. 

-

She stands beside him as he sits on the throne, hands clasped in front of her as she looks out towards the heroes they’re honoring. Men who, in battle, had saved the life of the man next to her, having more observant eyes than he. There are four of them, with leaves on their heads and smiles on their faces as they stand before the Emperor. 

He stands and speaks. She catches a few words, but for the most part is lost in his voice. It bounces along the marble walls, almost warm. His tone’s far from the one he uses when he’s dealing punishments and sentences, and she smiles a bit as he praises the men for their quick thinking and dedication to the Empire. 

She glances towards Poe, noticing that he looks pleased as well. He bears the marks of the Emperor proudly, neck decorated with bite marks. She allows herself a small, amused smile as she shakes her head slightly at her friend and partner, looking back towards where the Emperor is standing. 

He’s less terrifying, now. 

-

The Emperor leaves the next day, setting sail for the islands again to collect the dues the empire is owed. 

She’s just waking up, the sun shining through the slits in the curtains when he emerges from the bedchambers and walks towards her. Rey frowns, sitting up slightly as he kneels beside the couch. The blanket slips from her shoulders, but before she can even touch it he’s reaching forward and tugging it back up over her skin. She takes it, holding it to her as he looks up at her, already dressed in his armor and holding his helmet beneath his arm. 

“Is there anyone you wish for me to speak to?” he asks, voice low. 

His question surprises her. She didn’t think he cared that much, didn’t think he would’ve offered anything to her before leaving. She stares at him, trying to think of something for him to do, a quest for him to complete. There’s no one she knows well enough to give well wishes to, no one who would worry about her in the slightest. 

“… there are a few things in the temple,” she realizes. “Small things, stored where I slept. They might’ve been thrown out by now. I don’t know.”

“You wish for them?” he questions. 

Does she? They’re reminders of the life she no longer has, a reminder of her lonely youth. She hesitates for a moment before nodding. If nothing else, she can show them to Poe and share the stories attached to the objects. 

“I’ll retrieve them,” he says, and it sounds like a promise. She stills at how he touches her cheek gently, the slightest stroke of his fingertips against her freckles. She watches him go, staring at the door as it closes and hearing the clank of his armor as he walks away. 

-

It’s raining again. She finds herself worrying for the Emperor, worrying for the waves that threaten to overtake the ships sometimes. She stands by the open courtyard door, leaning against it as she watches the rain hit the stones with the force of a hammer. It sprays and hits her skin, but she doesn’t mind as she watches it. The orchards will be watered, at least. More fruit for her to gather later, more for her bring back and feed to Poe.

The door opens with a ‘bang’ and lots of laughter. She turns, watching as Poe stumbles through the door, having been pushed through by his friends, the guards. There’s a bit of yelling, more laughing, and she can hear Poe’s low laughter as she walks towards him, arms crossed for warmth against the chill of the rain. 

There’s some whooping and hollering as some of the men see her, and she watches as Poe snorts and roll his eyes, pushing back against the door to keep them out. She glares at the men, and the noise quiets down slightly. They’re distracted enough by her reaction that Poe’s able to shut the door fully on them. 

“Have fun?” she questions as he grins at her, running his hand through his soaked hair. His tunic’s soaked through, bruised shining with water rivulets. He shakes his head and splatters her with droplets, smile bright and happy. 

“Yes,” he says, laughing. “They mean no disrespect.” 

“What did they say?” she asks as he walks across the room and grabs a cloth to dry himself with. She sits on the couch as he rubs at his skin and hair, ridding himself of cool water and tossing the makeshift towel aside. She watches as he disappears into the bedchambers, presumably to get out of the wet tunic. 

“Some vulgar things,” Poe calls, and she waits before he emerges in a dry tunic. “Joking, of course.”

“Of course,” she says as he comes over to sit next to her. He takes her hands, and they feel shockingly like the Emperor’s in their coolness. She smiles at him, leaning into him and kissing him soundly. 

He stills beneath her lips before moving with her, taken aback for a moment at her forwardness. She squeezes his fingers as she scoots closer, feeling warmer already just from the kiss. 

His rain-cooled hands are warming quickly, touching her bare arms and shoulders. She tries to deepen the kiss, tries to kiss like she’d kissed the Emperor. She tries to mirror the taller man’s actions, nipping at Poe’s lower lip like the Emperor had nipped hers. He stills almost immediately and pulls back.

“You’re kissing like him,” he says, and she wonders how innocently she’d been kissing him before if a simple lip bite was the tip off. “You kissed him.” 

She doesn’t deny it, can’t deny it. She lets her silence speak for her. She’s expecting him to be mad, for some reason, annoyed that she didn’t tell him. But instead his face splits into a bright grin, and he takes her hands, squeezing them. “When?! Why didn’t you tell me?!” 

“I don’t know,” she admits, laughing at his excitement. “I assumed he’d tell you?” 

“No!” Poe insists, laughing as well and shaking his head. “When?” 

“Five days ago,” she explains. “In the orchards.” 

His grin doesn’t fade as she admits it. “And you liked it?” 

“Yes,” she says simply. 

His happy laughter echoes along the stone walls. 

-

The sun’s shining again, and she enjoys the warmth on her skin as she walks through the gardens. There are more people here, others wanting to enjoy the sun after the rain. She has a few crocuses in her hand, but doesn’t feel like gathering much, today. She runs her fingers along the grasses, letting the edges tickle her fingers as she walks along the stone paths. 

A shadow crosses her path, and she stops just before her feet enter its shade. A glance up has her nearly stumbling back in surprise. 

She’s not surprised by him, exactly, but she’s surprised by his appearance. He looks a bit haggard, a bit tired as he stands before her, his helmet again under his arm. There are streaks of dirt along his pale cheeks, dark circles beneath his brown eyes. She stays quiet as he sets his helmet on the ground, the metal hitting the stone path with a soft ‘clank’. 

Tucked beneath his other arm is a bundle. She knows exactly what it is, recognizes the pale cream fabric that her things are wrapped in. Her fingers tighten on the stems of the flowers as he braces it against his forearm and unwraps it with his other hand. 

There are only a few things inside it. Her possessions were few at the temple, small things from childhood. Nestled in the cloth, there’s a doll made of branches and bits of fabric stolen from the port market, a medallion wrapped around its hand for a shield. Perseus. 

There’s a necklace, a small bit of leather cord looped through some shells she’d carefully carved holes through, hours of soft tapping and scraping to get the holes big enough. A stolen medallion, the twin to the doll’s shield, hangs from the middle. 

There are dried flowers as well, ones she’d been given from small children who stumbled up the steps to pay tribute. They’re a bit crumbly, some of the petals missing from being wrapped up tightly in the fabric. She reaches for them, brushing her fingers against the dry stems. 

Shock has her heart skipping beats as she looks up at him. His expression’s almost eager, eyes focused on her face for her reaction. She allows herself a small smile. 

“Thank you,” she says, in soft Latin. Poe and Finn have been trying to teach her; Poe’s good, but Finn’s better. 

If he’s surprised by her choice of language, he doesn’t show it. He just slips the bundle into her hands and makes a bee-line towards the outer door of their chambers, obviously looking for the comfort Poe can give him after such a journey. 

Rey watches him go, holding the bundle in her arms before stepping forward and nearly tripping over his helmet. She looks down at the metal headpiece, bending and scooping it up in her free arm. 

The childish past of her wants to put it on her head, wants to see if it’ll spin around her skull like she suspects it will. It’s a large thing, with a black plume on top. He wasn’t wearing it when he captured her, she knows. He’d been dressed as a common soldier, then, for some reason.  
It’s heavy under her arm as she watches through the window of the bedchambers, curtains drawn to allow the sun in. She can see the exact moment the Emperor comes through the door, because Poe’s reclining on one of the couches in a simple tunic and then he pops up like an iris in the spring. And then she sees the Emperor step forward into view, and then Poe’s running and the Emperor’s arms are opening and catching his lover as Poe buries his face in the taller man’s neck. 

She smiles a bit, watching them, watching as Poe practically crushes himself to the Emperor despite the hard armor on the other man’s body. She watches as the Emperor moves his head, tilting down to kiss Poe. Poe’s hand moves up into the other man’s hair, and her eyes widen a bit as she watches the Emperor kiss him with the same passion with which he’d kissed her. So it’s the same with Poe, too. He treats her as he treats the man he’s loved for years. 

She wonders if they’d looked as wild, as animalistic in the orchards, Poe’s arms wrapped around the Emperor’s neck and the Emperor’s hand gripping Poe’s ass and back. 

She wonders if she’ll ever react to his homecoming like Poe had, jumping up and running into his arms. 

She wonders if he’ll catch her, kiss her like he does Poe. 

Rey watches for a moment more, cheeks flaming before she turns and walks towards the orchards. 

-

He’s off again the next day. More islands, more contributions to collect. She watches him leave, standing alongside Poe as he departs from the palace on the open carriage. There isn’t much tenderness between the two, now. That happened earlier, in the privacy of their bedchambers as Rey sat weaving her flowers into a chain and avoiding eavesdropping on the soft mutterings coming from the other room, the gentle sound of fabric rustling and lips meeting and parting over and over again. 

“You miss him, when he’s gone,” she says to Poe as they watch him go. 

“Of course,” Poe admits, not taking his eyes from his lover. “But it used to be harder.” 

“How is it easier, now?” 

“You,” he explains, and he turns to look at her. He’s grinning as he bends, pressing his lips against her forehead. His lips are warm and soft against her skin, and she accepts the gesture of affection with a smile.


	5. V.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter includes female masturbation. If you're uncomfortable, please hit that back button.

It’s been over two moon cycles. She’s starting to know the gardens and orchards almost as well as she’d known the temple, and her skin’s taken on a darker color from her constant exploring and training with Finn. Her cheeks, shoulders, nose and chest are scattered with freckles, and Poe likes to trace them with his fingers as they curl together at night. 

Her muscles have firmed, as well. Though she’s always been on the slender side, her time at the temple wasn’t exactly physical. Her core’s tightened, her arms stronger. She can throw the javelin now, though she prefers to use it as she’d once used her staff, blocking and hitting rather than throwing. Finn’s a worthy opponent, throwing his hand up to block her blows and sometimes using a javelin himself. It’s an unconventional way of using the weapon, but it works, at the least, and she’s more comfortable with it. He doesn’t mind; it’s a way of protection, after all, should things go sour. 

Rey’s felt the Emperor’s eyes on her more than once, watching her as she fights with Finn in her subligar and a band around her breasts. If he protests to her ways of fighting, he doesn’t speak aloud. He hasn’t so much as spoken to her about it, hasn’t spoken to her about much at all. She knows the sword’s expected of her, but she has no knowledge of his opinion of the javelin.

She’s up in the trees of the apple orchard when the Emperor returns from his most recent trip, her back against the bark and eyes towards the sea. His ship’s in the port, has been since the early light of the morning. She suspects he’s with Poe, now, or doing something else that’s required of him as Emperor. 

Her legs dangle as she bites into her apple, the second of the afternoon. She’s been thinking more than munching, gazing out at the dark spot that she knows to be Jakku in the distance. There’s no one there who would’ve worried about her, and though she can recall a few precious children by their features she has no idea of their names. There’s no one there for her to miss, no one to wonder after. 

No one who would miss her, either.

The crunching of the grass and the snapping of a few twigs has her gaze snapping towards the ground. She sees him, a little ways away and steadily making his way towards her and where Finn’s sitting against the trunk of the tree, holding the few apples that Rey’d tossed down to him to sate his own hunger. 

“Sir,” Finn greets, standing and cradling the fruit in his hands. 

“You’re dismissed,” the Emperor tells him, not unkindly. 

Rey watches as Finn looks up towards her, shifting the apples into the crook of his arm before he waves at her, smile bright. She grins back and waves a farewell, shifting so that she’s no longer straddling the branch, instead with her legs on one side dangling towards the ground, her hands braced on the bark so she doesn’t fall.

The Emperor looks just as tired, just as weary as the last time she’d seen him. But he’s no longer wearing his armor, dressed in his typical tunic with purple coloring. His skin bears the red streaks from the strigil, and he looks cleaner than he had before. He’s spent time with Poe, then, most likely. That explains the soft smile he offers her. 

“Welcome home.” 

The words fall from her lips in Latin, repeated several times over the past few days for Poe and Finn’s approval. She’s been practicing the saying for his return, hoping to at least speak to him a little.

His smile broadens, and her heart skips a beat. “Thank you,” he replies, in Greek, and she smiles back at his choice of language. Though she’s learning, she’s still much more comfortable with her own language. 

He opens his arms to her to help her down, and though she can climb down on her own and has done it several dozen times, she accepts the help. She climbs down low enough that he can take her by the waist and hoist her down. She braces her hands against his shoulders and he sets her down, pulling back as soon as her feet are on the ground. She misses the feeling of his hands on her waist immediately, but looks up at him as he steps back. 

“Walk with me?” he asks, and it’s less of a demand than last time. 

She nods and walks alongside him. “How was your journey?” 

“Boring,” he admits. “Though less fighting, this time.” 

“Fighting?” she questions. 

“You experienced it at Jakku,” he explains. “Rebels, those against the Empire.” 

She says nothing as they continue to walk. She was once one, she supposes, someone against the Empire. But she’s seen the way he rules; though terrifying, he’s fair. 

“Have you been with Poe?” she asks, glancing towards him. He’s significantly taller than her, and she has to tilt both her head and her eyes up to see him fully. 

“Not yet,” he replies. “He wasn’t in our rooms when I returned.” 

“Strange.” 

“I’m not worried. He has free reign of the palace. He can do as he pleases,” the Emperor says simply. 

Rey hums in response. She knows she has free reign as well. She can go anywhere she pleases, as long as it’s appropriate for a woman, and even when it’s not she’s managed to escape without punishment. Either the Emperor doesn’t know, or he doesn’t mind. 

“How are you liking it here?” 

“I like it,” she replies. “You have better fruit than Jakku. Which really means any fruit at all.” 

He snorts in laughter. “You seem to be liking our apple trees.” 

“I like apples.” 

It’s awkward, but not terribly uncomfortable. She walks another few steps before she realizes, again, that he’s stopped behind her. She turns and watches as the tall man reaches up and pulls a piece of fruit from the branch above, needing only to extend his arm as far as it will go. He plucks it down and walks over to her, offering her the ripe red fruit with the smallest smile, just the corner of his mouth quirked up. “Apple?” 

It’s her turn to snort in laughter, and she takes it from him, running her thumbs over the smooth skin and firm flesh. “Thank you.” 

“If there is anything else you need, I hope you know that I will not hesitate to get it for you.” 

She looks back up towards him, tearing her eyes away from the shiny fruit. His voice is sincere, eyes soft as he looks down at her. The sentence was a bit stilted, slightly awkward in his low voice with a bit of stuttering, but she knows he means it. 

“Thank you,” she says again, offering him a small smile in an attempt to ease his worries. “I need nothing, really.” 

They start to walk again, her eyes on the apple in her hands. “Though I would like it if you would tell your lover to stop wrestling so often. He has more bruises than I can count,” she teases, entirely certain that the majority of the bruises aren’t from wrestling. 

It’s kind of amusing to see the Emperor’s pale cheeks turn pink, the tips of his ears changing color as well. The little bit more she knows about him makes her grin as he coughs softly. “I’ll be sure to tell him that you worry.” 

“Thank you.” She can’t hide the laughter in her voice, and he turns to look at her, seemingly confused as to why she’s laughing at him. She just grins, shaking her head as they go deeper into the trees, near where they’d kissed. She can tell there will be no snapping this time, no aggression in his touch should he choose to touch her at all. They’re smiling too much for that.

“How long has Poe been with you?” she asks, realizing she’s asked neither of them for that little tidbit of information. 

The Emperor frowns, thinking. “… seven years,” he replies. 

“That long?” Rey asks, surprised, though she guesses she shouldn’t be. There’s an ease to them that she envies. They curl into each other like smoke, twisting and winding, weaving hands and intertwined limbs. She’s lost count of the times she’s found them wrapped around each other, though she has yet to find them in a more passionate, explicit position. 

“That long,” the Emperor replies. 

They say nothing for a few more paces. She rolls the apple over and over in her hands, debating whether to eat it in his presence or not. She doubts he’ll judge her if she gets skin between her teeth or juice on her chin, but she doesn’t want to take the chance. 

They’re deeper into the trees when he suddenly grabs her upper arm, pulls her into the dark shade and presses her gently against the bark of the tree. She stares up at him, wide-eyed, and finds him staring down at her in much the same way, as if he can’t believe what he just did. 

He doesn’t pull away, though. Instead he surges forward, pressing his lips to hers. The apple falls from her hands and she loops her arms around his neck, kissing him back just as she kisses Poe. There’s less aggression this time, but no less passion. She hums against his mouth as he kisses her, slow and sweet and deep. His hand finds her lower back while the other tangles in her hair, tugging at the leather cords keeping it up until it tumbles down her shoulders. 

She runs her hand down his shoulder, feeling the strength of his arm beneath her fingers. It should terrify her, should warn her that this is a man who could probably crush her without much effort, but instead it excites her, the idea of being in his arms, of him holding her like he holds Poe. 

There’s no General to interrupt them. She guesses he’s done his duties, finished his obligations for the day. She’s grateful for it as his tongue swipes along her lower lip and she opens to allow him in, his mouth tasting of wine and sweet fruit. Her fingers clench in his dark hair as he pulls her away from the bark and into his arms.

They kiss until they’re breathless, and she’s clinging to him, letting him hold her up. He doesn’t seem to mind, holding her with ease and kissing at her freckled cheek. She smiles at the sweetness of it. Now this is what she’d first expected, after he’d kissed her wrist when he was wounded. 

“You’re beautiful,” he mumbles against her skin. It's almost awed, and she feels her cheeks flush.

It’s the kindest thing he’s said to her. She pulls back a bit, disentangling herself from his arms. He lets her go, and she feels her back hit the tree trunk as she stares up at him, eyes narrowed. 

“Then why don’t you touch me more?” she asks. “I’m yours. You can do as you please.” 

“You’re not mine,” he replies, eyes darkened. “I don’t own Poe, and I don’t own you.” 

“All right,” she admits. “But that doesn’t answer my question. You rarely seek me out when you’re home, and then you leave again. You spend night after night with Poe, but I’ve hardly spoken to you, and hardly felt you.” 

“Do you wish for me to touch you more?” he asks. 

“Yes,” she says, speaking to him as if he’s a fool. Because in all honesty, she does want him to touch her more. She wants to get to know him, as well. She knows his lips better than she knows the man himself, at this point. If she’s to stay here and be his concubine, then she wants to know him, gods be willing.

He doesn’t take her tone too harshly, and he snorts softly before reaching for her hand. He takes it in his, and she can feel immediately that his hands are bigger than Poe’s, broader, his skin cooler and rougher. 

“Then I will.”

-

“How were the orchards?” 

She looks up from where she’s running her fingers through the plume of the Emperor’s helmet, the rest of his armor beside her. With every pass of her fingers more dust from his journey comes up, and there’s a stubborn part of her that wants to do it until no more flies into the air. 

“Good,” she says, as Poe comes and sits next to her, arm immediately wrapping around her shoulders. She feels him shift, his skin warm against hers.

“Your shoulders are hot,” he says, frowning as he pokes at her skin. 

“We walked for a while,” she explains.

“We?” 

“The Emperor,” Rey informs him, looking up from the helmet to look at him. 

Poe continues to stare at her, blinking owlishly before snorting and shaking his head, pushing himself off of the couch and walking towards the room with the tub. She watches him go. “What?” she calls, annoyed at his response, or rather, lack thereof.

“You two are becoming friendly,” he calls back. “I just wish I was there to see.” 

“You wish to watch us walk and talk?” 

“I wish to watch whatever made your lips swollen,” Poe clarifies cheekily as he comes back with a clay jar in hand, grin bright as he settles beside her and pulls the lid off. She can feel his fingers on her back, undoing the cords keeping her dress together. She lets him, setting the helmet down and reaching up to hold the fabric to her breasts as he spreads the sticky aloe along her heated skin. 

“We did nothing,” she protests, though it’s muttered and she can feel her cheeks flame. “Besides, if I’m going to stay here and become a concubine to him, you can’t blame me for wanting to know him.”

“Mhmm,” Poe hums, not sounding the least bit convinced as he moves the sticky, fresh-smelling salve across her shoulders. “And yet a few months ago you wanted to kill the man.” 

“I was wrong,” Rey replies, a bit heatedly even as she melts into the man’s touch. “I’m human. It’s allowed. He has more compassion than I thought, and he is more considerate than I expected. And we only kissed, nothing else.” 

“Should I be jealous? Should I be worried that you’ll like his kisses more than you like mine?” Poe asks teasingly, grinning as he finishes and wipes his fingers on his tunic, setting the jar aside. 

“No.” The answer’s immediate, and she means it. Just because she enjoys the Emperor’s mouth on hers doesn’t mean she doesn’t enjoy Poe’s sweet, tender kisses as well. 

“Good.” 

His lips are on hers within a heartbeat, and she melts into him, letting him cup her cheek and run his thumb along where her skin’s beginning to freckle more. She can feel his smile against her mouth, and can’t help but smile as well. 

“So you do like him,” he says, hands moving to her hips and guiding her into his lap. The long skirt of her dress keeps her covered as she straddles him, the folds of the fabric allowing for her to spread her legs across his without it tightening too much.

“I’m starting to,” she admits. “He’s kinder than I thought he would be. He’s waited to touch me for my sake. He thought I wouldn’t want him, so he waited.” 

“Well, who can blame him when you slapped him across the face like you did,” Poe counters. “But yes, he waited for me as well. Granted, I didn’t wish to wait long for him.” 

She can imagine it. Poe’s more of a flirt than she ever was and ever will be. She laughs a bit, shaking her head before kissing him softly. “I don’t doubt it,” she mutters against his mouth. “You’re eager to fly to him every time he comes home.” 

“It seems he came to you first, though.” 

She knows that. She knows that the Emperor sought her out before he found comfort in the arms of his other lover. Even if Poe wasn’t in the room, it’s strange he didn’t go to find his husband. That part still confuses her, baffles her that she’d be put above the man she truly believes is the Emperor’s other half.

“He did,” she says, and she can’t keep the awe out of her voice. 

She can feel Poe’s nose pressed against her jaw, his lips to her neck. She closes her eyes, hands finding his shoulders and curling into his hair as he presses slow, sweet kisses to her skin. 

It still shocks her, how she’s here, and how she’s in the arms of this man. She’s thanked her Goddess several times over the past few months, feeling more loved than she ever has in her entire life. Her childhood was sad, lonely, pitiful, though she can’t hate it for it made her stronger. Her time at the temple was better, much better, but still lonely. 

Nothing compares to this. Nothing compares to walking along the orchards with Finn, scaling the trees and tossing fruit down to her friend. Nothing compares to Poe’s laughter, his gentle touches and teasing, his smile towards her as they sit together and speak about everything and anything. Nothing compares to the Emperor’s lips against hers, his kind eyes, his broad shoulders. 

She’d thought her fate to be in the temple. Now she knows it’s here. 

“Are you all right?” 

His lips have stopped on her skin, his hands cupping her cheeks to bring her back down from her thoughts. Rey blinks at Poe, biting her lip as her eyes widen in question. “Hm?” 

He smiles. “I lost you.” 

“Sorry,” she apologizes. “Was thinking.” 

“About?”

It’s too much to explain, and even if she were to try, she’s not sure she could put it eloquently. So instead she surges forward, kissing him soundly and pulling him closer to her. His hands find the small of her back and the nape of her neck immediately, clenching in the fabric of her dress and rubbing against her skin. She opens her mouth to him, tasting the wine he must’ve shared with the soldiers. He returns the kiss in kind, not as aggressive as their Emperor but with more heat than she’s known from him. 

He’s as eager as she is, apparently. Heat flares faster and hotter than she’s known, hotter than her first kiss with the Emperor and deeper than when she’s touched herself. Her mouth falls open, slick against his as she moves her hips, trying to achieve some sort of friction. Her hand falls from his hair, moving down his chest. Her nails pass down his tunic, scrape against the fabric until they brush across a dark nipple beneath the weave.

She scrapes experimentally, and stills as she hears a moan. It’s one she’s heard dozens of times before, but never because of her. She’s heard it through thin curtains and open windows, the Emperor’s touch the cause. Never has she made him moan like this. 

Her other hand’s buried in his hair, and she tugs gently as she pulls back, licking her lips and staring down at him. His pupils are blown wide, dark brown eyes seemingly black as he looks up at her, and her heart catches when she recognizes that look. 

The light’s low, fire burning bright in its basins around them. It turns his skin a warm gold, his smile brilliant in the dark. Her heartbeat thuds everywhere at once; deep in her chest, just behind her tongue, and throbbing between her legs. She swallows, biting her lip as she stares down at the man who very well could’ve hated her, decided her his competition and made her life miserable. But no, he’s been kind, so kind and wonderful and loving, and she has no idea what she’s done to deserve to be held by him. 

She must’ve done something right to appease the Goddess, at some point. Her service to Her is being repaid in the best way imaginable.

The arms of her peplos are still draped on her arms from the aloe, loose and needing only one shrug or slight touch to fall. She’s fairly certain that, if he touches the fabric, she won’t stop it from dropping. 

He moves forward again, pressing his lips to her jaw. “Is this all right?” he mutters against her skin, nose pressed to her cheek. 

“Yes,” she says quietly, eyes on his tan shoulder as he moves his fingers through the fine hair at the name of her neck. 

“Are you sure? We can stop,” Poe insists, pulling back just enough that she feels like she can breathe fully again. 

He takes her awe, her bafflement at her new life, as fear. She blinks at him before moving forward again, pressing her lips to his as her answer. It’s a light kiss before she pulls back and shifts her shoulders, letting the top of her dress fall and pool to where the leather belt cinches it at her waist. 

She’s been naked in front of him before, obviously, with their shared bathing habits. And she can’t exactly say this feels different, because she’s been feeling the heat of it for a while. But it’s never been as hot as it flares now, her waiting for him to do something, anything with her. 

One heartbeat passes, and then two, and he still hasn’t touched her. She’s starting to regret it when his hand comes down from her neck to cup her right breast, touch almost hot against her skin. 

She wonders if the Emperor will feel cool when he touches her like this. 

“You like them?” she questions, though she already knows the answer, smiling as he bends to skirt kisses along the skin of her collarbone and upper chest, where the sun’s left dozens of freckles and made her skin hot. 

“You know I do,” Poe mumbles against her flesh, nuzzling at her neck before moving down. She hums. His hand’s comfortable, just holding her, not daring anything further. 

And then there’s a slight tug on the breast that he’s not holding, and her hips jerk forward against his involuntarily. She can feel his tongue lapping at her, toying with her pert nipple as she hums, curling into him. 

After a moment, there’s a sharp, sudden pain that has her gasping, and then laughing breathlessly. It seems Poe’s taking a cue from his lover, biting at her breast. 

“No,” she says simply, and then he’s peppering her skin in soft kisses to ease away the pain. She hums in soft pleasure at the small sign of respect for her, him wordlessly apologizing and moving towards something else. She’s left grinning and wondering how she’d been blessed enough to have him. 

He’s turned his mouth to the other breast, and she smiles, pressing her lips to the top of his bent head. His curls are soft, and she runs her hand through them as she lets him touch her, lets him kiss her. 

“He’ll do this, too.” 

His words are mumbled to the skin in between her breasts, and she glances down as he kisses a line from her clavicle to just below her beasts. “Hm?” 

“The Emperor,” Poe says in between kisses. “He’ll treat you kindly, kiss you like this.” He presses a soft kiss to her left nipple, lingering for a moment before pulling back. “He’ll lavish you in attention. Praise your beauty.” For emphasis, he kisses her other breast. “You are beautiful.” 

“He told me that as well, today,” she explains as he kisses around her areola before moving back up to her shoulders and collarbone. Every inch of her chest feels warm from his lips, and she grins at the attention she’s being given as he kisses at her warm, aloe-sticky shoulder despite the taste of the plant’s juice. She tilts her head to give him more room. 

“He did?” Poe asks, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “He’s right.” 

She bends and captures his lips again, kissing him deeply. He licks at her lips, against the roof of her mouth. Though he doesn’t bite like his lover does, she feels that heat again, her heartbeat between her legs and aching for attention. She shifts on his lap, trying to find where her skirt’s tied so that she can slip her hand beneath the fabric. He holds her waist, keeping her from pitching backwards as she moves. Their lips separate with a soft ‘smack’ as she looks down to try to find where the fabric parts. “I can’t-“ She sounds frustrated, put off, and she huffs softly as Poe just laughs. 

“On your knees, sweetheart,” he instructs her, and she goes up, bracing her hands on his shoulders as he moves his hands around her waist and finds where the fabric’s draped over itself. As soon as he finds it, he slips his right hand beneath it and touches her bare thigh, slipping up to where the belt cinches at her waist and stopping there. His hand, when spread, touches her hip to the curve of her ass, and she stares down at him as his thumb strokes along her hip. 

“I want you to touch,” he says, and she stares down at him in disbelief. 

“Your hand’s closer,” she tells him, hands moving into his hair again. She cups his jaw in her hands and then slides her palms down to his neck before moving up into his hair. She does this over and over, a smooth motion that allows for his stubble to scrape at her palms and his sleek curls to tickle her callouses. 

“I want to watch.” 

There’s a tone to his voice that she’s never heard. It’s lower, slightly gruffer, and he sounds a bit in awe. She hasn’t heard his voice like this with the Emperor, either, though she can’t exactly hear anything other than loud moans when they’re intimate. She doesn’t often hear them speak, though she has no doubt that he uses this tone with his male lover as well.

“Watch?” she questions. 

“I can guide you, if you want,” he mumbles. 

His eyes are dark, the nearby flickering flames reflected in them. She hesitates for only a moment before moving the front of her skirt aside for easier access, and so that he can watch her hand move. 

She’s already slick when she moves her fingers to her lips, sighing a bit at the first touch and the heat she finds. She wants him to feel it, too, wants to feel his large fingers against her skin, knowing his are less calloused than hers since he trains less than she does. But he seems content to watch her, still holding onto her hip as his eyes are focused on her hand. 

She finds her clit immediately, and sets the pace of her fingers fast. She doesn’t get very far before he’s kissing her, mouth open and wet against hers.  
Rey moans, allowing herself to make the sounds she’s swallowed so often behind the meat of her thumb, the sounds she often muffles into her hand. There’s no one here to keep quiet for. 

“I thought you were a quiet one,” Poe breathes against her lips. 

“I try to be, when you sleep with him,” she admits, rolling her hips against her own hand. 

“You don’t have to,” he says lowly, and she can feel his other hand move between their bodies to take her wrist. “We’d like to hear you.” 

The idea of the Emperor hearing her moan makes her cheeks flame. To have Poe know she touches herself is one thing; he taught her, after all. But to have the Emperor know? That’s another thing entirely. 

“Does he know?” she asks, voice hitching as she finds an angle that makes her legs shake. Her forehead meets with his as she lowers herself down, spreading her thighs a little further to settle back on his thighs. 

“If you want him to,” Poe mutters. “I can tell him how I taught you. I can tell him how you learned on your own, I can tell him how sometimes you aren’t as quiet as you think you are when he's gone.” 

Her breath hitches again, and her eyes dart to his in horror. “You-“

He kisses her, hot and wet and filthy. It doesn’t ease her fears as he cups the back of her neck with his left hand, his right still on her wrist as she moves her fingers against her clit. “You have no idea how beautiful you look,” he mutters against her mouth. “Stunning. The most beautiful woman in the Empire.” 

His words make her laugh softly, nervously. She’s not far now, and it’s evident in how her hips are jerking and her legs are shaking on his. Her free hand’s braced against his shoulder, nails digging into his bare skin. She’s never done it sitting up before, she’s only touched herself reclining against the cushions or one of the couches. The angle’s different and strange, but not unpleasant. It does make her legs hurt, though, and she leans into him for support. “No.” 

“Yes,” he replies immediately, sensing her struggling and dropping the hand from her neck to her back to keep her upright. The hand around her wrist moves to cover her hand, and she can hear the hitch in his breath. “By the gods, you’re soaked…” 

She can feel his fingers brush against her as his hand covers hers, and the idea of him touching her is what sends her over the edge. She bends and buries her face in his neck as she cums, gasping against his skin as he guides her through it, rapid circles moving into slow strokes. She lets him move her hand until she kisses his neck and pulls her hand away, wiping it on her skirt before she settles more into his lap. 

He’s hard. She can feel it against her thigh, and she hums at his cock’s heat. “Do you-“ 

“He’s the one who takes you first,” Poe says quickly, voice low. “We've discussed it." 

That sits uneasy with her, their discussing who decides to lie with her when it should be her decision. But, she thinks, if that is the only thing in this new life she finds issue with, then she has been lucky enough that she can ignore the irritation with them. “And what can you do?” she asks, frowning down at him. “You need pleasure, too.”

“I’ll lie with him,” Poe says, and then he jerks his head towards the door. 

Her heartbeat stops and jumps up into her throat. Her breath hitches as well, and her nails dig into his bare shoulder as her head whips around, gaze searching out the shadows of the doorway. 

The Emperor steps forward a moment later, flush high on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. His smile can barely be called as such, just the slightest quirk of his lips as he braces his hand against the wall and looks directly at her. 

Rey stares at him, mouth opening and closing a few times before Poe saves face and kisses her. While the horror that they were just watched doesn’t fade, to have him hold her is a small comfort. She resists the urge to moan as the realization that the Emperor just watched her get off on top of his lover hits her suddenly, and then she’s blushing so red she’s sure it overcomes the pink tint of her shoulders. 

“It’s fine,” Poe says, pulling back and kissing her cheek. “He enjoyed it.” 

“You don’t know that,” Rey hisses, embarrassed beyond belief. Her heartbeat’s rapid behind her ribs. 

He presses another kiss to her cheek. “Go and clean yourself, sweetheart. I’ll be with him tonight.” 

“As always,” she mutters as he guides her off of his lap. She gathers her dress in front of her, holding the fabric to her chest as she stands, trying to keep her breasts covered as she walks by the Emperor to the bath room. She can’t meet his gaze, can’t even look towards him as she tries to move past him. 

She doesn’t get far before she’s stopped by a gentle touch to her waist. Rey halts in her path as she feels cool lips against her sticky shoulder, the softest sensation. And then it’s gone, and she can hear the Emperor’s sandals against the stone floor as he steps down into the sitting area. There’s mumbling in the language she’s learning but does not know yet, and then soft laughter. Not wanting to overhear what they’re surely saying about her, she steps into the bath room and sinks to the floor beside the tub. 

She wants to bury her face in her hands and groan, but she blushes as she realizes how that’ll sound to Poe’s ears - and the Emperor’s large ones.

Gods help her.

-

“You have your left flank open,” Finn warns her, just before he strikes at her. 

With a soft curse, she jumps backwards and immediately defends herself with the javelin that’s not particularly being used as a javelin. She blocks his attempt at stabbing her, pushing him back with the metal of the weapon. After her previous two weapons were destroyed by his blade, they decided to forge her own hybrid with a hilt made entirely out of metal. It’s heavier than her wooden one, and she’ll have to learn how to throw it again, but at least it doesn’t take the damage of Finn’s blows as easily. 

She sees that he’s open on his left after having attacked her right and goes for it, spinning and knocking the end of the javelin against his open ribs. The metal connects with his bare skin, sweat-slicked and shining in the high sun, and he lets out a sharp shout of pain. She hadn’t hit him that hard, but his dark skin’s sure to bruise after. 

“Good,” he commends, grinning despite his hand going to his side to rub at the hurt skin. “Very good. You saw an opportunity, and you took it without hesitation. Very good.” 

She grins, chest heaving as she breathes heavily from the exertion. “Go again?” 

“Water, then go again,” Finn instructs, turning to get his own jug of water. He stops as he sees Poe leaning against one of the pillars surrounding the training grounds. “Ho!” 

“Hey!” Poe calls, and Rey’s grin broadens at the sight of the other man. He’s dressed in some old loose tunic, casual and comfortable, his neck and collarbones decorated in more bite marks than usual. She drops her javelin and runs towards him, her fingers moving over the bruises. 

“He was rough last night,” she mutters, frowning. “Did he hurt you?” 

“We both were,” Poe explains, pulling the hem of the tunic up just the slightest bit to show her the bruises on his hips. His smirk is broad. “He bears similar marks.”

She frowns at them, but doesn’t protest, as Poe’s grinning happily at the sight of the dark smudges on his tan skin. “I worry.” 

“Don’t. If I wanted him to be soft, he would be soft,” Poe replies. “I didn’t wish for him to be soft.” 

“Hm,” she hums, tilting her face up towards him and crossing her arms under her breasts. Her feet are bare, for better grip on the grass and dust below her feet. She’s tied her hair back into three buns for less distraction as she moves with Finn. Her skin’s streaked in dust and dirt, and she’s sure to have a few bruises appear within the next few hours, much to Poe’s annoyance. He doesn’t like her hurt. And yet, she thinks, looking at him and wanting to shake her head in exasperation. 

“Is he here?” she asks. 

“He’s with his advisors, discussing the North,” Poe explains. “I came to find you.” 

“I’m still with Finn,” she protests. 

“Then I’ll wait and watch,” he insists. “I’d like to see how far you’ve come.” 

Rey stares at him before shrugging. “I need water, and then I’ll show you how far.” 

The kiss he presses to her sweaty forehead is almost too warm for her overheated skin. “Please do.”

She walks off and finds her water jug, downing half of it before walking back to her javelin and picking it up. It had taken a week or two before Finn agreed to let her fight with one, but once she showed him how she handled it, he was eager to help her develop a tactic and moves to assist her in a fight. 

It’s a learning process for both of them, but they’re adopting a fighting style quickly. And she enjoys it, for the most part, though she more often than not leaves with sore arms and shoulders that scream in protest when she tries to climb the apple trees. 

She hoists it into her hands and hears the wind against a blade. She whirls around and blocks Finn’s swipe at her. The other man grins as she does so, and moves as she aims for his stomach with the blunt end of her weapon. 

He blocks it and strikes again. She blocks it easily, ducking backwards with the javelin braced over her chest. She pushes back up, standing straight again and pushing forward against his blade. The metal shrieks together as he slides it against her javelin to release the grip she has on him. She stumbles forward slightly, but has just enough time to block his swipe towards her right flank. 

She twists the blade and tries to pry it from his hand, but he’s better than that. He wrenches it backwards, sending her stumbling as the force she’d put into it comes right back at her. She rights herself quickly before going at him. 

Rey’s stopped by his hands on her javelin. Though he tries to get it from her, she pulls back and resists as much as she can. Releasing her strength suddenly, Finn pulls the javelin towards himself. She ducks, using the force of his pull to slip between his legs. By the time she pops up, her hands are back on her weapon and it’s pulled against his throat. While she’s shorter than him, she pulls him back hard enough that he has trouble breathing. She holds it for a moment, waiting for his word. 

“Optime,” Finn chokes out. She lets go immediately, her javelin coming to her side as he retrieves his sword from where he’d dropped it to grab at her weapon. “Very good.” 

“Thank you,” Rey says, smiling at him. “One more?” She hopes not – she wants to go clean up, go with Poe to the orchards like they’d planned. 

Finn can sense her eagerness to flee and grins, shaking his head. “Go clean up. Good work.” 

Rey grins back, glancing towards Poe. Immediately her smile falls as she finds he’s not smiling at her proudly like he usually is. Instead, he’s staring at her in something like astonishment, and she can see that his loose tunic looks a bit different in the way that it lays across his groin. 

Her lips turn up into a smirk, and she holds it as she hoists the javelin over her shoulder and carries it over to him. “Did I do well?” 

He’s silent, but the eager kiss he gives her as she laughs against his lips is reassuring enough. 

-

She wakes crying. 

The moon’s high in the sky, pale light illuminating everything around her through the curtains. There’s no adrenaline, no panting, no cold sweat. She just wakes crying, tears still warm on her cheeks and heart feeling hollow. 

Rey can’t remember the dream. She’s not sure she wants to. But she feels cold, and curls further into the blankets covering her. She tries to take a deep breath to ease the empty feeling in her chest, but instead it comes out as a loud sob, and she freezes, eyes going wide in horror at the sound. There is no way they couldn’t have heard.

She hears a rustle soon after, and then footsteps, and curses softly as she sits up. Her eyes find Poe’s silhouette in the doorway to the bedchamber. 

“Rey?” he calls softly. 

She opens her mouth to speak, to tell him that she’s all right and that he can go back to sleep with the Emperor, that he belongs there and she’s fine. But when she opens her mouth, nothing comes out, not even a squeak. 

She hears the scratch of stone against stone, and then the basin by the doorway of their chambers is lit. Behind Poe, she can see the Emperor. As Poe steps from the doorway and walks over to her, naked and sleep-mussed, she watches the Emperor who looks much the same. She can’t see much of the man, most of him in shadow, but she can see that he’s there with one hand braced against the doorway as Poe comes next to her. 

His nakedness doesn’t bother her in the least, but he has the decency to grab one of the blankets and drape it over himself before he pulls her into his arms. She wraps her arms around his shoulders immediately as his hands roam her back, hugging her tight. 

“What was it?” he asks, voice soft. 

“I don’t know,” she admits quietly. “I just … woke up.” 

He presses kisses to her cheeks, her jaw, her nose, her forehead. He saves her lips for last, the kiss chaste and sweet. “It’s okay, we’re here.” 

She doesn’t miss the plural. She glances towards the doorway, where the Emperor’s still standing, still worried. 

“I’m fine,” she says quietly. “I just … I don’t know what I felt.” 

“Do you want me to sleep with you?” he asks, and she nods before she can even process the question properly, still half asleep. 

She can feel Poe as he lifts his head, and hears the Latin as it spills from his lips. He’s talking to the Emperor. 

She’s even more surprised to hear the Emperor respond, voice low and soft. It comforts her in its warmth, the way it surrounds her. It makes everything feel just a bit calmer. She wants him to talk forever, but he replies to whatever Poe said in a few short sentences. There’s a silence, and then he speaks again. Poe mutters something, and then she can hear the sound of the curtain falling back into place and the Emperor’s feet on the stone floor.

She curls into Poe as he strokes her hair, already falling back asleep in the comfort of his arms. The words he’s speaking against the shell of her ear are soft, pretty things, with a little lilt to them. Not quite song, not quite speech, but she’s lulled back into sleep by them all the same, tears still sticky on her cheeks but heart soothed by his presence. 

-

There’s no training today. The General has called all the soldiers and guards in for a test of their skills, to see if they’re up to his standards. Finn’s gone, as are many of the guards she’s used to seeing around. There are a handful who have been dismissed for the time being just in case of an attack on the palace, but Finn is not one of them. 

She’s up in the apple tree, grateful that she can give her aching shoulders a break from the javelin. Finn’s been having her throw it, getting her to use it properly instead of the staff she’s been using it as. 

Poe’s … off doing something. She has no idea. The man disappears for hours at a time, and she’s never really asked what he does. He knows where she is because of Finn. She wonders if he has a guard as well, or if he doesn’t need one as he’s been there for so long. 

She has apricots, now, settled in the ‘bowl’ she’s made of her skirt spread over her legs and pulled tight. There’s a collection of pits on the ground below, and her fingers, lips and chin are sticky with the juice of the fruit. She can’t complain, though. They’re sweet and juicy and she’s sure to be sick of them eventually, but not yet. 

“Rey.” 

It’s by sheer dumb luck that she doesn’t drop a pit onto his head. She looks down and sees the Emperor standing at the base of the tree, hands clasped behind his back and face tilted up towards her. 

“Hello,” she says, holding out a fruit above him. “Apricot?” 

He opens his hands and catches it as she drops it down to him. She watches as he rubs it with the hem of his tunic before biting into it. She hums, wondering if he bites Poe the same way. She doubts it. He bites into the apricot far too gently for the marks that Poe bears. 

“Thank you,” he says, once he swallows. “Walk with me?” 

“Why do we have to walk?” she questions. “Climb up here, sit with me.” 

There’s silence following her suggestion, and she worries she might have gone too far. But then he’s grabbing a branch, and bracing his feet against the trunk of the tree, and climbing up. It’s less graceful than her ascent, and a lot slower, but eventually he makes it to the limb just across from her. If they swung their feet on the same side, there’s no doubt their ankles would cross. 

“Are you relieved from your duties?” she asks, leaning against the trunk and pulling her feet up to brace against the branch, knees bent as she bites into her own fruit. 

The Emperor’d left his down on the ground in favor of climbing the tree, so she tosses him another as he replies, “Yes. For now. One never knows, though.” 

“Have you seen Poe?” 

“Not yet, no. I wanted to see you first.” 

She smiles at that, licking her lips of juice.

“Did you have apricots on Jakku?” the Emperor asks, and he sounds genuinely curious. 

“Dried,” she explains. “No fruit grew on it. I rarely had fresh, which is why I enjoy the orchards so much. I think I told you this?” 

“Ah. Forgive me, then. There’s been much on my mind.” She can see his smile. The sun’s bright through the leaves, dappling him with little shapes that move with the breeze. “… did you enjoy life on Jakku?” 

“I enjoyed life in the temple,” she says. “But on Jakku? No.” 

The Emperor is speaking with her. The Emperor is in an apple tree, eating apricots from the next trees over and speaking with her. Six months ago, she wouldn’t have believed it. 

“And you enjoy it here?” he asks. It’s the one question she’s heard from him the most, and she wonders if he’ll ever stop asking. He sounds so hesitant, so worried that she’ll say ‘no’ even though she’s told both him and Poe that she does. 

“Yes,” she replies. “I’m … taken care of, here. It’s strange.” 

“You weren’t taken care of before?” 

“No,” she admits. “I don’t remember my parents. Much of my childhood, and some of my adulthood, was lonely.” 

It’s the wrong thing to say, apparently, because she watches as his shoulders drop and his face falls a bit. She wishes they were on the same branch so that she could reach for him, ask him what she said to make his small smile drop like that.

“I wish I could spend more time with you,” he says, and it’s so soft she almost misses it. He sounds so different, now; he’s not commanding the audience of his people, he’s not doling out hands of fate to those who have defied the law. He’s almost shy, regretful and hesitant. “It’s unfair to you.”

She could say that she’s happy here, that she’s fine, but that would give him the impression that she’s getting along well without him, and she’s not. Well, she is, but she would prefer to see him more. Their touches have been limited to the two kisses in the orchards, hot and heavy, and the soft kiss to her shoulder that one night. She’s hardly touched him otherwise, him being with Poe more often than not. She understands it, she does; she’s seen how distraught he is after some of the punishments, seen how he had to exile a father with young children because of his crimes. That one had taken a toll on him, and she watched as he turned to Poe for comfort, his head tucked against the shorter man’s shoulder. 

She’d walked the orchards until the moon rose, after that one, wanting to give them their privacy. 

He needs familiarity more than he needs her. 

“I haven’t made good on my promise to touch you more,” he insists. “I regret it. I don’t wish to be away for so long, but the Empire…”

They’re busy, she knows. With the acquisition of more territories, there are more rebels each and every day, and though there are senators and other enforcers he is the one who has to worry the most about an uprising. Though the growth has been incredible, she understands the resistance. She was one of those who thought the Empire cruel once, too. 

It takes little to no effort to reach up and grab the branch above her. She swings to his, hands moving from one branch to the other. She holds onto the branch above her head with both hands, standing above him as he looks up at her, eyes dark and curious as to what she’s doing. 

She settles on the branch, straddling it and spreading her long tunic over her legs. “I understand,” she says. “I understand that you don’t have much time for me. I understand that, most of the time, you need Poe and not some new girl.” 

“That’s not-“ he protests. 

“Let me speak,” she says, voice firm. He silences immediately, full mouth closing as he stares at her. 

“I am yours, despite you saying that I am not,” she insists. “At first I was yours against my will, but that is no longer the case. I have no wish to return to the temple, for my home is here, now. I am yours, and will be for as long as you wish.” It doesn’t come out as soft, as sweet as she’d planned. She sounds a bit like him as he commands his audience of people, demanding and powerful. She feels it, too, watching him stare at her in awe. “The choice to have me is yours. I will wait for it as long as I have to.” 

“… and if I were wishing to lie with you tonight?” he asks, voice soft and low. 

Her heart skips in her chest, and she almost doesn’t dare open her mouth in fear that nothing will come out. “Then that would be your choice,” she replies. 

His hand’s large on her waist as he takes her and kisses her, pulling her a bit closer to him on the branch. He pulls back a moment after to straddle the branch as she is, and then he pulls her close enough that she can hook her legs around his waist. She does so, arms wrapping around his neck.

So he is capable of being soft. She recalls Poe’s words from her training session the day before. _If I wanted him to be soft, he would be soft._

He certainly is, now, kissing her like she’ll break. His hands are cool and calloused against her jaw, thumb stroking along the skin of her cheek as he guides her. It’s slow, and sweet, and almost innocent. She lets him kiss her, lets him cup her cheek and press his lips to hers. 

“I will try to be with you more often,” he mutters once they’ve parted slightly, foreheads pressed together. She can taste his breath on her lips. “You’ll never be lonely again.” 

Rey smiles a bit, pressing a chase kiss to his chin before saying, “I haven’t been lonely for a while now.” 

He hums, fingers toying with the leather cords around her neck. She’s wearing the necklace he retrieved for her, as she’s been since he brought it back. “… tell me about this.” 

“The necklace?” she asks, trying to look down at it. 

“Yes,” he insists. “And tell me about the doll, and the pressed flowers. Tell me about the temple, tell me about the sand on Jakku. Tell me about you.” 

He wants to know her. He still wants to know about her after his disastrous first attempt a few months earlier, and that makes her grin as she goes in for another soft kiss, letting his fingers play with the shells and stones around her neck.

-

He doesn’t lie with her that night. He’s called away shortly after she tells him the story of her necklace, with the shells she so painstakingly drilled holes through and the gold coin she pinched from Unkar Plutt when she was younger. 

By the time he returns, the moon’s high in the sky. She can’t sleep because of the firelight coming from Poe’s room, the man eagerly awaiting his lover’s return. She doesn’t mind it, though. It casts everything in a warm, gold light, and she’s comforted knowing he’s there. 

She hears the door creak open, and the sound of the Emperor’s sandals on the stone floor. She doesn’t move, feigning sleep as he walks by.  
Rey can hear his feet stop, can feel him hovering over her. She waits for something, anything. The slightest touch, the smallest kiss – perhaps him asking if she’ll come to bed with him, as he’d asked her in the orchard. 

Instead, she feels his fingertips against her forehead, tucking a few strands of hair back behind her ear. Her eyes remain closed as his fingers brush against her bare neck, moving down to her bare shoulder and stopping just as the blanket covers her skin. 

And then he’s gone, walking towards the bedchambers. She opens her eyes and sees Poe’s silhouette waiting in the doorway. She watches as the Emperor steps up to him, watches as they kiss. 

It’s not hungry, like theirs usually are. She keeps her eyes open, hoping neither of them see she’s awake as Poe’s hand slips to the Emperor’s neck and the Emperor cups Poe’s jaw, thumb moving along the dark stubble. It’s sweet, and seemingly more intimate than some of the other hotter kisses she’s seen between the two. Suddenly feeling like she’s intruding, she closes her eyes. Behind her lids, she can see the moment the fire’s extinguished. 

A small part of her’s grateful that he decided to lie with Poe instead of her, tonight. She lets out a soft sigh of relief that could be heard as just a sleeping sound to the men in the other room. 

Time. She wants just a bit more time. 

It’s his choice, when he wants to take her. But she’s glad it wasn’t tonight.


	6. VI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Sexual content and somewhat graphic descriptions of blood and death (imagined).

The rain’s come back. It slicks up the training grounds, but it’s not enough to prevent her from training with Finn. They’re trying to get her to throw the javelin, and she’s getting better with each day. 

Today, though, the mud is slippery enough that she falls more than she throws in her effort to get the javelin towards the target. She can’t get a good stance, even after she takes her shoes off. When Finn tries it, he gets the same result – sitting flat on his ass in the mud. 

“I warned you,” Rey says, laughing as she offers him her hand to help him up. He grins and takes it, letting him pull him up to his feet. 

“We’ll see if it dries up tomorrow,” he explains, trying to wipe the mud from his skin and only succeeding at spreading it around. “For now, go get cleaned up. We did the best we could.” 

“Thank you,” she says, grinning as she grabs her javelin from where he’d dropped it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He nods as he heads off towards the barracks where the guards live to clean up. She snorts at the amount of mud coating his broad back, but knows that she doesn’t look any better – if anything, she probably looks worse. She’ll have to use the strigil twice; once to get the mud off, and another to get everything else. 

She hoists her javelin over her shoulder and walks around the training grounds, heading directly towards the Emperor’s chambers. The rain will, hopefully, get some of the mud from her skin as she walks, but it’s barely a drizzle now so she doubts it. 

“Poe?” she calls once she enters their private courtyard. “Poe, are you there?” 

There’s no response as she steps into the living area from the outer door. She frowns at the tracks she’s leaving on the floor, but shrugs. Either she or one of the servants will take care of it. “Poe?” she tries again, setting her muddy javelin against the wall and walking towards the room with the tub. Without any response, she just shrugs again, reaching around to untie her dirty breast band. She walks into the bath room, letting the fabric fall with a wet ‘plop’ to the floor as she steps in, grinning down at the distinct line of mud along her breasts. 

She looks up to find the strigil and instead finds warm brown eyes watching her from the tub. 

She should shriek in surprise. She should cover her bare breasts, but instead she stands frozen, watching the Emperor as he watches her. She straightens up, facing him. It’s not like he hasn’t seen them, anyway, she thinks, recalling the time with Poe and his hand between her legs. “Hello.” 

“Hello. Training go well?” he asks, and it’s too mundane, too normal. He seems to have escaped the mud and rain, pale skin tinged pink from the temperature of the water. It smells of juniper and fir, and she can see the oil swirling on top of the water as he relaxes in it. 

“Not really,” she admits, surprised she can even speak as she grabs the strigil and steps towards the corner of the room, where the basin for the discarded filth is placed. She scrapes the mud off of her arms, grimacing at how much comes off. She shakes it into the basin before scraping another line, skin turning pink beneath the pressure. “It’s too slick. I fell many times.” 

“Are you hurt from it?” he questions, and when she looks up he’s frowning. 

“No, I’m fine, just filthy,” she replies, scraping the mud from her upper chest. “And tired. And sore.” She glances up at him. “Sorry, should I find somewhere else-?” she asks, stopping when she realizes that she knows nowhere else. She’s always bathed here. She supposes she could go to one of the public baths, the one off of the palace for the servants and the rest of the people who are below advisor or senator status. Or she could walk down to the small river just behind the orchards. 

“No,” he says simply. “It’s big enough for two.” 

She knows that. She’s lost count of her shared baths with Poe, his hands on her skin and her hands on his as they work out the knots of each other’s training. Her arms and shoulders already ache, and she knows she’ll have to ask him to help her later. 

“If you’re sure,” she mutters. “I don’t want to interrupt.” 

“You’re not.” His voice is low and almost gruff. She feels a flare of heat beneath her skin, and bites her lip. 

She feels like she is intruding, though, as she scrapes the slick mud from her skin. She peels her subligar from her hips and down her legs, kicking it aside to be cleaned. It’s the first time she’s truly been naked in front of the Emperor, and she wonders if he likes what he sees. She’s covered in mud, she knows, but she still wonders as she scrapes along her legs. 

Rey thinks she hears a soft intake of breath, but that could be because he saw the extent of how dirty she is. That’s probably all it is, she reasons, as she bends to scrape the back of her legs. 

She’s not entirely clean, she knows, but it’s better than before. At least she’s not coated in the wet dirt. She sets the strigil aside and steps towards the water. She dips her foot in and gasps softly at its heat, pulling her toes back immediately. 

“Sorry,” the Emperor mumbles. “I suppose I like it hotter than Poe prefers.” 

“I can see that,” Rey mutters, stepping back into the water. It’s hotter than she’s ever had it, but as she sinks into it, she sighs. It starts to ease her muscles almost immediately, and she can see the benefits of a near-scalding bath. 

When she looks up next, he’s reclining. His head’s tipped back, the tips of his hair brushing the water, and his eyes are closed. She takes the opportunity to sweep her gaze over what she can see of his body. 

He seems even broader when nude, as powerful and strong as when she’d seen him wrestling with his general. She can see his shoulders, strong and dotted in marks that are too big and dark to be freckles. She watches him for a moment before the mud dripping down her neck from her hair becomes too much, and she dips below the water, hands untying the leather bits that are holding her hair in place. Her dark hair floats around her as she releases it and reaches up to put the leather on the side of the tub, and with a few shakes with her hands she feels confident that she’s gotten most of the mud out. She flips it up, pushing it back from her face as she comes up again. She rubs the water from her eyes and opens them to see that he’s watching her, and the water’s become murkier since she dipped below the surface. 

She’s apologetic, but not regretful. Her hair feels better. She feels cleaner, and she reaches up to pull it back. The sharp pain of her shoulders and arms halts her before she can reach her arms to her head, though, and she hisses, lowering them again. 

“Are you all right?” the Emperor demands, and she looks towards him, rubbing at her arm. 

“Yes,” she mutters. “Finn’s been training me to throw the javelin. The metal makes it heavier.” 

“I thought it was wood?” 

“The new one is entirely metal,” she explains as she massages her shoulder, wincing at the pain and the knots she feels. “The wood was getting hacked by his blade, and I was going through one every few training sessions, so we decided to make it entirely metal for defense.” 

“So you’re not using it as a javelin,” he observes. 

“No, I use it as a staff, most of the time,” she says, looking towards him. 

He looks curious, and she prepares herself for more questions. He doesn’t ask any, saying only, “I’d like to watch you. I’d like to see how you use it.” 

She smiles a bit and nods. “Poe can tell you when I go to the grounds. It depends on Finn and the weather.” 

“It depends on the weather,” he repeats, voice laced with humor. “Really?” 

“We thought it would be fine, it’s only drizzling,” she protests, but she’s grinning as she wipes a bit of wayward mud from her chest, catching it before it drips between her breasts. “We were wrong.” 

“I didn’t even recognize you,” he teases. 

“Hush,” she says back, reaching up to rub at her shoulder again. 

“Do you hurt?” he asks, voice laced with concern.

“Yes. I’m not used to the heavier metal.” She winces. “Poe will help, later.” 

“I could help now.”

She stops rubbing at her shoulder, hand stilling on her skin, hot from the water. Rey looks up towards him, and finds that he’s already sitting up. She can see his pecs, now, the scar that runs across his right shoulder, the story of which she has yet to hear. She watches him, watching his face to see if he truly wants to help her. His eyes are warm, and kind. She smiles a little, shy as she shrugs. 

“… if you’d like,” she admits, because she can’t deny that she wonders how his hands will fare to Poe’s. The Emperor’s are larger, stronger.

He nods towards the sitting step beside him, and she stands from hers, the water just barely brushing her hips as she walks over to him. The air feels colder, now that she’s dipped into the water, and she shivers as she wades through to him, more bare to him than ever. She watches his gaze to see if it roams, and though it does, she’s not bothered by it. If anything, she likes it, likes the way that his eyes focus on her breasts as she settles beside him, likes the way he looks at her like she’s the sun.

His _sol._

“Where?” he asks, once she sits beside him. 

“Shoulders,” she replies. “And arms.”

There’s no sound for a while, no touch when she expects it. She bites her lip, waiting for his hands, but they don’t come. 

“You don’t-“ she starts, thinking he changed his mind, but then his thumbs are between her shoulder blades and his warm palms are spreading across her skin. She can feel the oil he must’ve grabbed, slick against her skin, and the heat of his hands as he presses down. She bites her lip to keep from moaning. It hurts, but she’d expected it to. It gets worse before it gets better, in her experience. Her hands clench against the stone sitting step as he digs into a knot along the curve of her shoulder and neck, and she nearly arches once it unwinds itself and he continues stroking his thumb along the skin. 

He’s similar to Poe in gentleness, and for that she’s grateful. Though Poe doesn’t linger this long. Poe chases his fingers with his mouth, pressing warm kisses to her damp skin. The Emperor just touches her over and over in the same place, as if memorizing her. 

The smell of fir and juniper gets stronger as he massages her shoulders, and she closes her eyes, breathing in deeply as he rubs the oil into her skin. Her muscles feel better already, and she sighs a bit as he undoes a deep knot with his thumbs. 

Her eyes snap open when she’s grasped by her hips and moved over his knee to settle on the step between his legs. Her breath hitches audibly, but she finds no complaint on her tongue, no protest. She can feel his chest behind her, and his core, but as far as his cock he seems to have positioned her so that it doesn’t touch her. She knows that she’ll feel it eventually, have it between her legs in time, but for now she’s grateful she doesn’t have to feel it against her back. 

His hands move from rubbing to stroking reverently, caressing her shoulders and moving his palms down from the tops of her arms all the way down to her wrists. It’s not long before she feels his lips brush against the nape of her neck, her hair having been pulled over her left shoulder to give him access to her sore muscles. 

She lets him press kisses to her slick skin, closing her eyes again as he drags his lips along the lines of her shoulders. He takes her soft sigh as encouragement and presses a kiss to the lobe of her right ear. Rey leans back against him, smiling as, for once, he feels hot against her. She’s so used to his hands being cool to the touch that it’s a nice change to feel he’s warm like she is. 

She leans back far enough, tips her head and tilts her face to seek out his lips with hers. He obliges, bending and kissing her gently. It’s hurting her neck slightly, but she doesn’t care. His mouth’s searing against hers, and he’s biting again on her lower lip, tugging softly before letting go and licking the abused skin. She hums at it, recalling the last time he’d done that, amongst the apples and shade. 

“Better?” he asks. 

“Hm?” She can’t think, can’t even imagine what he’s talking about. His hand’s roaming her waist lazily, stroking her wet skin, and it’s incredibly distracting. Not to mention that he’s kissing along the line of her jaw. 

“Your shoulders. Do they feel better?” 

“Yes,” she mutters, turning to kiss him again, missing him and catching the corner of his mouth before she moves to kiss him properly. “Thank you.” It’s muttered against his lips.

He says nothing, but keeps his hands on her hips as she kisses him. He nips again, and it makes her smile against his mouth. 

For all the tenderness that he’s showing her, there’s still that bite, that bit of aggression that Poe wears proudly on his skin. Though she’s not entirely sure she wants to bear as many marks as Poe, it makes her happy that he’s treating her the same way. 

His thumbs stroke along her hipbones, and she hums as he moves up to press against her toned stomach. She’s proud of her progress, the muscle beneath tighter than it’s been since childhood, when she spent hours climbing Jakku’s few imported trees and running along the sand. He keeps above her hips, hand warm and covering a good expanse of her skin. 

He’s waiting, she realizes, for her to say ‘yes’. 

“You can touch me,” she mutters against his lips, right hand finding his. “If you want to.” 

“Do you want me to?” he asks softly. 

“Yes.” The word falls from her lips in a breath, slipping out before she can really think about it. But perhaps that’s the answer, not thinking too hard about the Emperor touching her. She used to think she would never allow him to touch her, defiant in her hatred. But now that said hatred has gone, she’s eager, and wanting. He’s proven himself so far, asking her permission instead of taking. Poe would ask, of course, but he wouldn’t have waited so long to ask. There’s an ease to Poe’s actions that the Emperor doesn’t have, a sort of confidence that the man behind her might have on his throne, but he doesn’t have now. 

His lips move from hers to her temple, and she hums as he touches the soft skin of her inner thigh. He strokes her, gently, not daring to touch her folds even though her heart’s beating like a hummingbird behind her chest in waiting for it. 

She’s sure he can feel her pulse as he presses his lips to her neck, nipping gently with his teeth. Her heart jumps into her throat as she realizes it’s the first bite, the first slight mark that he’s given her. Her breath hitches as he does it again, closer to her shoulder this time, and she closes her eyes and tips her head back, her hand reaching down to guide his hand between her legs. 

He tenses, and she’s suddenly worried she’s gone too far. “Do you not-“ she starts, opening her eyes to look towards him. 

“No,” he mutters, and she hums in pleasure as he cups the apex of her thighs with his entire hand. It’s a simple, soft gesture, and it’s more comfortable than she thought it would be. He just holds her, doesn’t dare move his fingers against her, letting the heat of his palm rest against her cunt. She likes it, closes her eyes again and wonders if she could ask Poe to touch her like this in their down time. It feels good, the heat of his hand against her, though she wants to buck her hips against his palm. “No, I want this.” 

She hums, resting her head back against his shoulder. Her hips buck involuntarily as he strokes her, starting from her slit and working his way up to her clit. As a result, he reaches his other hand across her body, barring her and keeping her down with his forearm. 

“Sh, it’s all right,” he mutters. 

“I’ve never … inside … “ she breathes. 

“Never?” he asks, sounding surprised. “Not with Poe? Not by yourself?” 

“No,” she admits, before her eyes snap open and she tries to catch his gaze. “You know?” 

She can feel his chuckle, deep and warm as it rumbles in his chest. “You think you’re quiet, but you’re not.”

She opens her mouth – whether to protest, or to say something not quite nice about Poe and his failing to tell her that she was found out – but she’s silenced by his fingers swirling against her folds. He brushes against her clit occasionally, and she can’t tell whether his teasing’s on purpose or accidental. But she sighs and lets him take over. 

He drags it out longer than she does when she touches herself. He takes his time, stroking her and paying attention to every bit of her. She’s becoming a bit impatient, squirming against him, but lets him do as he wishes. She’s his, after all. She wasn’t lying in the orchard. The choice to take her is his, and she knows it full well. She’s already given herself to him, for her people. If he wishes to take her in the bath, she’ll accept it. And she will accept it gladly, though her heart quivers in nervousness at the thought of him between her legs like that.

His finger inside her surprises her, sliding in easily after so much stimulation. She bucks against his forearm in shock at the sudden intrusion, looking down through the somewhat-murky water in an attempt to see where he’s entered her. 

“Easy,” he mumbles. “Don’t hurt yourself.” His words are followed by kisses to her shoulders and neck, and when she looks down she can see that she’s gripping his forearm so tightly he’s sure to have crescent-shaped marks from her nails. 

It feels strange. It doesn’t hurt, at all, but the feeling of something – never mind something so thick – in her is strange and foreign. It’s not pleasurable until he moves so that the heel of his palm’s pressed up against her clit, and then he’s grinding against it and by the gods, that feels better than anything she’s tried. The size of his hand covers more of her, and she squirms against him as he moves the heel of his palm in slow circles, up and down, side to side, trying to get a feel for what she likes. Between the pressure on her clit and his finger slowly curling and stroking inside her, she’s biting her lip and trying not to make a sound out of habit. 

She doesn’t see his hand until it’s cupping her jaw, thumb finding her lip and tugging it from between her teeth. “Don’t.” It’s an order. “Be loud. Let them hear.” 

She takes his order happily and keens, letting out a soft whine as he ups the speed of his palm. 

“That’s it.” He’s low and encouraging, much like Poe is. She closes her eyes, shaking as one of the first waves of pleasure overtakes her, tingling along her spine down to her toes. She feels herself clench around his finger, and outright moans at how good that makes it. She’s never tried that before, waiting for Poe’s guidance. She’ll definitely have to try it now. 

She can feel his smile against her shoulder as she moans again, his hand grinding in a tight circle against her clit.

Her orgasm takes her by surprise. She’s used to it now, knows how long it takes her to cum. But when his hand’s on her and his finger’s in her, all of her experience means nothing. She turns as she rides it, kissing him hard enough that their teeth clash together painfully. She’s panting against his mouth as he lets her kiss him. He’s moved his arm away from her hips and she takes advantage of it, bucking into his hand and trying to grind against his palm.   
He lets her do as she wishes as the tingles ebb away into a warm, sated feeling, and then she’s leaning back against him as he kisses her neck and shoulders. 

“How’d that feel?” he mumbles against her skin. 

“Good,” she breathes, because it’s the first word that comes to mind. 

“Optime,” he mutters, and she knows it means something along the lines of ‘good work’ because she’s heard Finn say it so many times on the training grounds. Her cheeks flush, and she knows that she’ll never avoid thinking of his hand against her when Finn says it again. 

He pulls his finger out, but continues to cup her as she closes her eyes, resting her head against his shoulder. She dozes off somewhere between his hand finding her ribs and stroking where they jut a bit, and him lifting her from the bath. 

The air’s cold and his skin’s warm, and she curls into him, eyes still closed as she listens to the sound of the water sluicing from their skin and dripping onto the stone floor. To her surprise, a warm blanket’s wrapped around her without her moving from his arms, and then she’s being transferred to someone else, their chest just as firm as the Emperor’s and warm as well.

“Is she hurt?” Poe asks from above her, and she can feel the words as they reverberate in his chest. “I told Finn that-“ 

“Finn did nothing,” the Emperor mutters, voice barely above a whisper. “She’s just tired from training. He has her throwing her javelin, now.” 

She can feel someone’s lips against her forehead. A moment later and she can tell that it’s Poe; she can feel the scratch of his stubble against her skin. “Where do I put her?” 

“Into bed,” the Emperor explains. “One of the couches. Tuck the blankets around her.” 

Poe hums in agreement, and Rey can feel his steps as he walks out of the bath room. Sleep claims her as Poe walks with her through the living area. She thinks she feels another, fuller set of lips against her cheek just before she’s out, but she can’t remember for certain when she wakes hours later to the sun just setting beyond the horizon.

-

He’s gone when she wakes the next morning. The morning light spills across the marble floor, and she listens to the birds singing outside before she looks to the empty bedroom. 

It’s not unusual, not in the least. She sits up, holding the blankets to her chest as Poe comes back from the kitchens, holding plates of fruit and bread for breakfast. One look at his face and she knows. 

“When?” she asks. 

“Before the sun rose,” Poe explains quietly. She moves her legs so that he can sit beside her as they eat. 

There’s something he’s not telling her. She knows in the way his movement are slow, the warmth in his smile all but seeped out and leaving a fake one behind. She’s certain when he tells her that training’s been canceled for the day. 

“Is it Finn?” she demands. “Is he ill? Is that it?” 

“No, Finn’s fine,” Poe insists, and his tone reassures her. He’s telling the truth. “He’s fine, I promise.” 

Poe promises a lot of things. 

It’s still raining, down to a light drizzle that mists her skin as she stands in the doorway to the courtyard. Poe stands behind her, arms wrapped around her waist. 

“How was it?” 

“He told you,” she accuses, not unkindly.

“Did you expect him to keep quiet to me about it?” 

She hadn’t. She leans back against him, closing her eyes and tucking her face into his neck. He nuzzles her, the stubble of his jaw scraping her temple. “… good. It was good.” 

It was good. She’d liked it, liked his hand between her thighs and his lips on hers, liked his finger inside her and his palm against her clit. She’d liked him behind her, the warmth of his chest as she leaned back. 

She wants to feel that way again. She’d much prefer it to the way she’s feeling now, like something’s scrabbling underneath her skin and pulling her stomach and heart down by a chain. 

Poe’s lips find her temple, and she hums softly, letting him hold her as the rain comes down. 

-

The Emperor returns when the moon’s high in the sky. The rain’s stopped, but she hasn’t moved from her position leaning against the doorway. The uneasiness hasn’t faded, refused to drift away with the rainclouds, and for the life of her she can’t figure out why. Perhaps this is how Poe feels when the Emperor’s away.

Poe’s lit the basins around the room, warming and lighting it. He’s leaning on one of the couches, picking at a bunch of grapes but not really eating them when the Emperor comes through the door in his armor. 

Rey’s gaze snaps to the pale man stepping from the doorway, and her heart drops further when, instead of running to his lover as usual, as always, Poe just stands. She can’t move, can’t even breathe as Poe walks to the Emperor, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. They speak softly, in Latin, and she curses herself for not learning the language more in her time here. She stands in the doorway, scared, as Poe bows his head and nods. 

“What is it?” she demands after another moment of them speaking in the language she does not know. “What happened?” 

Their gazes snap to her, and she takes a step forward towards them. “… someone died,” she mutters, a guess. Her hear sinks. 

“No,” the Emperor says, shaking his head. His hair’s pulled back into that half-tail he wears, and his cheeks are streaked with black. She frowns. It’s too powdery to be dirt, too dark to be ash. Soot. He’s covered in soot. “No one’s died.” 

“Then what happened?” she demands again, wanting answers. 

“Ren-“ Poe mutters, almost warningly, and she stares at him. He was her ally, her friend. Something horrible happened, and he doesn’t want her to know?   
The E,mperor steps out of Poe’s arms and walks towards her, taking her hands and slipping something hard inside of her grip. She runs her thumb along the ridges, looking down at the bit of marble in her palm. 

“What-“ she starts, but he interrupts her. 

“There was an attempt to destroy the temple by some men from the North,” the Emperor says. He says it gently, as if that would soften the blow of his words. “The structure is sound, but the statue and much of what was inside was destroyed. They set fire to the surrounding area. I was notified early this morning, by one of the guards who saw the blaze in the distance. It’s a blessing there were no losses.”

The realization of what the white marble is in her palm hits her like a lightning strike, and she moves her gaze down to the chunk of rock that once was the statue she’d cleaned, worshipped, prayed to every single day. She can see it now; he’d managed to recover a piece of Aphrodite’s robes. She traces the grooves of the folds with her thumbs, in shock.

No losses. No losses, he’d said. 

He has no idea, does he? 

Rey looks up towards Poe. That’s why there was no training today. That’s why he’d been holding her close for hours, lips on her skin and arms around her waist. That’s why he’d wanted her here. So she didn’t see the smoke in the distance. The dark clouds she’d seen over Jakku weren’t storm clouds as she’d assumed. 

“You knew,” she accuses. 

“No,” Poe insists. 

“You knew something was wrong!” she hisses, fingers closing around the stone and clenching until it digs into her skin, sure to draw blood. “You knew why he left!” 

“Rey-“ the Emperor starts, but she whirls and walks towards one of the couches. She’s surprised her feet even take her that far, honestly. She’s shocked she didn’t collapse on the spot. 

The first sob comes as soon as she hits the cushions. The disbelief passes quickly, morphing into despair after. 

Her home. Her home’s been destroyed. The place she’d relied on for shelter and food and faith, in rubble. It hurts, it hurts like hell, and she sobs again as she clings to the piece of stone. What once was beautiful and worthy of worship is now trash, a broken piece of her former life digging into the flesh of her palms. 

She can feel someone’s hand on her shoulder, but she doesn’t want comfort from them, not now. She jerks her shoulder away. 

“Don’t.” It comes out as a choked sound, harsh and angry. And out of the corner of her eye she can see the blurry form of the Emperor, dressed in his purple tunic and soot-streaked armor, back away slowly. 

“Rey,” Poe tries, but she can’t speak. Her throat feels like it’s closed, and she can barely even breathe, sobs wracking her frame. 

Her home. Gone. Destroyed to bits of stone and soot. 

She hears the hard, heavy steps of the Emperor as he walks by. She can hear the door slam behind him, the force behind it strong enough to knock one of the urns of oil nearby over. It shatters as it hits the floor, olive oil spreading across the stone floor. She makes no move towards it. Neither does Poe. 

Rey can hear Poe walk as well, towards the courtyard. The door opens and closes and then he’s gone as well. With both of them gone, she screams.   
It’s choked off by a sob soon after, but it feels good to just scream. It’s the loudest sound she’s made since she came here, since the night she’d first arrived and cried at the loss of her freedom.

She screams, now that she’s lost everything.

-

Ren hears her scream, the resulting crying. He’s escaped into one of the next rooms over, one reserved for the more respected guests. He can hear her as she sobs, the stone walls thick but not thick enough.

He’d been honest when he said there had been no losses. The vandals, criminals, whoever they were from somewhere North – they stuck to the temple, setting fire to the small, pitiful gardens around it. The people of Jakku hadn’t taken up the temple, probably thinking it too small to pay their respects to, or unwilling to give up their paying jobs to tend to it. It had fallen into disrepair, dust noticeable when he’d gone to collect her things before. 

The rain had helped calm the fire down, but it still took buckets from the sea to extinguish the flames. He’d helped as much as he could, trying to rescue what was once his lover’s home. But they’d already knocked over the statue by the time he’d gotten there, the basins and altars destroyed. While the structure remained somewhat sound, the inside had been completely ruined. The bit of statue he’d recovered was the most recognizable piece out of the whole figure, the goddess’s face smashed with some sort of hammer into white dust. 

She screams again, and he wants to cry out as well.

Ren bites into the meat of his thumb, trying to keep his own sobs from echoing through the halls. He tastes blood soon after, teeth cutting through his skin. 

He’d failed her. He’d done his best to protect her, keep her well from afar and keep her happy, and in the end he’d been her destruction. Her small, short, “Don’t,” had hurt enormously, and his heart breaks again as he replays it in his head. Her jerking away from him had been the final blow. 

Ren listens to her cry until the sound dies out. He wonders if she’s fallen asleep, or if she’s left and run away. Either’s possible, really. He must’ve been sitting there for hours, with the way his hand’s bruised and scabbed over from his self-inflicted wound. 

“Kylo.” 

Poe’s voice is gruff, hoarse; he probably cried as well, listening to her. Ren doesn’t dare look up at his consort as Poe walks over and kneels before him. He watches as Poe bends, pressing kisses to the broken skin of his hand. 

“I should never have taken her from the temple.” 

“There’s nothing you could’ve done,” Poe mumbles against his palm. “You think she could’ve protected it if she’d been there alone? Do you think that those people would have come to her defense, those who didn’t even help put out the flames?” 

No. No, he doesn’t suppose they would. “But if they’d known someone was attending it-“ 

“That wouldn’t have stopped their attack,” Poe insists. “Be grateful she didn’t burn with it.” 

He can’t be grateful. He can’t be grateful when she probably hates him, probably regrets giving herself to him. Is she even his anymore? “I’ll send her home in the morning.” 

“There is no home for her, Ren! The home she had you just handed her a piece of!” Poe hisses. 

“I will give her the option to return and start anew, then.” 

“And throw all of this away?” Poe demands. “The progress we’ve made with her, the love we’ve given her? You’ll just throw it away to return her to a place she’s no longer welcome to?”

“If she wants to return, it will be her choice, not ours. Where is she? Tell Hux to have a ship prepared for tomorrow. I’ll send her back.” 

“She’ll hate you for it.” 

“She already does.”

He can taste salt on Poe’s lips as his consort kisses him, hard. The man’s weight on his lap is grounding as Poe straddles him, settling on his thighs and wrapping his arms around Ren’s neck. 

“She doesn’t,” Poe mumbles against his mouth, pulling back to rest his forehead against the Emperor’s. “She can’t. She loves you.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“She’s let you touch her intimately before she allowed me, let you touch inside of her,” Poe insists, and Ren meets his lover’s eyes. “If you take her back, she’ll be crushed. She’ll be alone once again. Do you want that?” 

“... no.”

“If you hadn’t taken her…” Poe starts, and Ren feels the other man’s hands find his. Poe squeezes his fingers gently, avoiding the wound on his right hand from his own teeth. “She’d be dead. Do you understand that? Or they would have taken her, and not treated her as well as we have. You know what I mean.”

The idea of Rey being taken, being touched by other men makes his stomach turn. He feels sick as he imagines her forced down against her will, her tunic torn, their hands dirty and-

“She would’ve perished with everything else.” 

It’s almost more sickening than the previous idea. Entering the temple, finding the statue crushed and the basins tipped, but stumbling across her things as well. Burned to ash, the gold coins of her necklace and her doll melted in the flames. 

He’d find her, too, charred and already gone. Burned beyond recognition, beauty stripped away by the fire. He wouldn’t even see her. He would see a corpse to be disposed of. 

He’s sure he’s going to be sick. He does gag, and Poe leans back before pressing a kiss to his temple, cupping his cheeks. 

“She wouldn’t have been able to defend herself. This was not the work of one man. This was the work of dozens, Kylo. If you hadn’t taken her, there’s no saying what could’ve happened.”

Poe’s lips are soft against his, brief and sweet. “If you hadn’t taken her, we wouldn’t know her. We wouldn’t know that she’ll eat apples until she’s sick. We wouldn’t know that her skin freckles even in the slightest of sun. We wouldn’t know that she can’t sing, wouldn’t know how she sounds in the dead of night with her hand between her legs. We wouldn’t know her, Kylo. We wouldn’t love her.” 

It was selfish of him to take her. A sudden thought, a sudden need for the beautiful woman defying him. It had sparked into something like adoration the moment she gave herself up for the lives of people who don’t know her, and rolled like a boulder down a hill from there. Now, he’s entirely sure he loves her, this woman who’s brighter than the sun, who burns and blinds him with every thing she does. Every smile, every word, every touch. 

“She’s in the orchards,” Poe tells him. “I haven’t dared speak to her, but I told Finn to keep an eye on her.” 

“Where else would she be?” Ren mutters, shaking his head. 

“Are you going to send her away?” 

“I’m going to offer it,” he admits. “She might wish to see it.” 

“Morbid curiosity.” 

“It’s only right.” 

Poe kisses him once more before sliding from his lap. “If you let her go, I will take your sword and ram it through your ridiculously large chest, Ren.”

-

She hadn’t been able to climb very far. Tears still clouded her vision, and cloudy vision and high branches don’t a good combination make. So she settles for one of the lower ones, her knees brought up and her back against the trunk. In the cradle of her thighs she holds the bit of marble, thumbs running over the folds of the goddess’s robes over and over again. She knows it well, now. She just wishes she’d be able to memorize the other pieces as well. 

“You’re dismissed.” 

“Sir, I-“ 

“That’s an order.” 

She hears his voice, soft and weary below her. Rey closes her eyes, not wanting to see him. It was his fault this happened, his fault she was away when they struck. If she’d been there, she might’ve been-

“Rey.”

She turns away from his voice, eyes still closed. 

“I’ve come to tell you that a ship will be ready in the morning, if you wish to return home.” 

_Home._ The word itself hurts. Not because of the temple, but because he doesn’t realize that she’s been home for a long time, now. 

She opens her eyes, but doesn’t look at him. Instead she looks out to the sea, where the sun’s starting to set. It’s the beautiful hour, when everything is bathed in gold and makes even rubbish and rubble look pretty, but she can’t appreciate it now. “… is that it, then?” she demands, heart hurting. 

She already knows the answer. This is it. They don’t want her anymore, don’t care for her. They’re sending her back to a ruin, to be buried with the rubble.

“I don’t understand.”

“Is it so simple?” she hisses. “Am I like the fruit of your trees? Easily plucked when wanted and discarded when you've had your fill, or find me unsatisfying to finish?"

He protests immediately. “Rey, no-“ 

She does look at him, now, and she should feel remorse for how red his eyes are, how puffy the skin is around them, but she doesn’t. Let him cry, let him hurt, let him regret yanking her from the temple, from her goddess. 

“A ship then? Am I to be sent back to a place that did not welcome me, to people who ignored me? I have nothing there now, you've shown me what's left of that. And you think that's better? You think that's what I want?" she demands, holding up what’s left of her beloved statue. “Are you tired of me? Do you no longer want me?” 

“No, Rey, I-“ he starts, but she’s having none of it. She’s fueled now, the pressure in her chest erupting and escaping through her lips. It’s been building for hours, since she realized that they’d both neglected to tell her what happened.

"You promised. You both promised. He promised you’d be kind. He promised that you loved me, even though you've never said it yourself. He promised you wanted me. How many promises did you and Poe make? If you send me away, then all of that, all of this, is empty, false, and petty." It comes out as a snarl.

“I do want you,” he snaps back. “I do love you!” 

“Then _prove it!”_ she shrieks.

Silence follows. She’s sure she’s scared away a few birds with the volume of her last two words. Her chest still feels tight as she stares down at him, waiting to see what he’ll do. 

He stares up at her, full mouth slightly parted as he watches her, probably seeing if she’ll come down. She doesn’t, back still resting against the trunk, though her legs have lowered so she could lean towards him, spit her words at him. 

She waits for his command for her to come down, waits for him to order her into his arms. She knows, if he does, she won’t go. She’ll climb higher to avoid him, if she has to. 

He doesn’t. He doesn’t say a word. He just stares up at her before reaching for his cloak, unpinning it from his armor. She watches as the purple fabric falls from the shoulders of his chest piece, and then he’s reaching around and tugging at the straps holding it on. His eyes never leave hers, but she watches as his armor falls, leather and metal hitting the still-slightly muddy ground. He doesn’t seem to care as he tugs his arm braces off, unlacing them before letting them fall as well. 

For a moment, her heart clenches as she thinks he might be disrobing for her. What does he think that’ll prove? Nothing, it’ll prove nothing but his own foolishness, she thinks, though she guesses it could be his way of giving himself to her, as she’s his. Or was his, she doesn’t know for sure anymore.

But he doesn’t. He strips himself of his armor, down to his tunic and his sandals. The tunic’s still streaked with soot and dirt, and she watches as he approaches the tree. With her against the trunk, he can’t climb it properly, but she watches as he hoists himself onto the low branch using his large arms. 

She’s so surprised that he managed to climb up that she doesn’t even think to climb higher to avoid him, instead watching as he straddles the thickest part of the branch that he can without getting too close to her. He still says nothing as he reaches his hand out towards her, like she’s a wild animal that needs taming. 

She should be insulted, but logic hits her head on and she guesses that’s how she’d been seen by him just moments ago – a snapping, angry animal.

Rey watches him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He just continues to offer his hand out to her until she’s certain his arm is getting tired. Only then does she reach for him. 

She notices the bite mark in his hand, black and blue and scabbed over. It’s human, in the shape of the teeth. She wonders if it was his doing. It probably was. 

As soon as her fingers touch his, he’s pulling her closer. She finds herself going willingly, and then she’s pulled into the cradle of his arms. 

Now she understands why she was previously terrified of him. His arms around her are nearly crushing. She doesn’t dare hug him back, one hand still clutching the piece of the statue and the other in a fist at her side. This proves nothing. Him holding her like this proves nothing, she thinks. 

It’s not until she feels his heartbeat that she starts to understand. 

It’s erratic against hers, and then she feels his tears as he buries his face in her neck and cries. He’s shaking, she realizes, and part of her wants to hold him back, but she can’t, not quite yet. 

There are words, soft ones, barely hearable. Right by her ear, his breath is warm against the shell of it. She waits, trying to decipher some of the words from their soft muttering, and she catches just enough of them to realize what he’s doing. 

He’s apologizing, but not to her. To the gods. In her own language.

He’s apologizing for her. For taking her from her home, for causing her harm, for causing her grief. 

The Emperor shifts, adjusting her in his arms, holding her tighter. His words are becoming almost indistinguishable now, with how he’s crying and shaking, and she glances down towards the armor on the ground, the purple cloak he’d abandoned. 

His tunic, hemmed in gold and purple, is dirty from mud and soot and bark. Her skin’s wet from his tears and the drops of the still-wet leaves overhead. 

His words move from apologizing to thanking, and she stills, listening to him as he thanks her goddess for allowing him to be with her. Not to love her, not to claim her, but to be in her presence, and that’s what has her. He’s not an Emperor thanking the goddess for another lover, but a man thanking the goddess for a woman to love.

He starts to thank the gods for having her with him when disaster struck, and for the first time she realizes that if she had been there, she would have perished. If the Emperor went to assist, then this was not the work of a few men. If he had been called to action, then it was the work of more. Possibly dozens. She wouldn't stand a chance now, with her training and her staff, let alone then. Horror strikes her like a thunderbolt at what could have been, and she stills in his arms, eyes going wide.

She doesn’t dare let go of the statue piece in her hand, but she wraps her arms around him as best as she can and buries her face in his shoulder. 

That helps him, it seems, and he strengthens in her arms, words softening and becoming almost unintelligible until they’re not words at all.

“I’m sorry,” he manages after a moment, and she knows he’s not speaking to the gods, but to her. 

“I want to stay here,” she tells him. It’s said harshly, but he doesn’t seem to take offense as he presses his lips to her skin.

“You can stay forever, if it pleases you,” he mumbles against her bare shoulder. 

“There’s nothing for me there. It would be nonsense to go,” she explains. She stops, is silent for a moment. “Unless there’s much left …. ?” 

“Next to nothing,” he admits, pulling back just enough to look down at her. “I would have grabbed a more recognizable piece if it wasn’t smashed to dust,” he says, nodding towards the marble in her hand. 

She looks down at the white stone and turns it over in her fingers. “… you offered to take me home, but home is here.”

“Is it?” 

“It has been for a while.” 

He doesn't say anything, instead burying his face into her neck, skin warming as his breath fans over her, before she feels the shape of his mouth over where her heart is beating gently.

-

It doesn’t resolve itself over night. She climbs the trees as high as she can without putting her life in danger and looks out towards the small island, trying to catch a glimpse of the temple. It’s too far away; she can’t quite see it, but he assures her that the structure’s still there. They only managed to destroy what was inside of it before he and his soldiers arrived. 

Finn allows her a few days break from training. She’s grateful for it, since she refuses to put the piece of the statue down. She runs her thumb over the grooves over and over, until there are marks in her skin from it pressing into her flesh. 

She’s sitting on one of the couches, her legs crossed and her hand settled in the space between them with the statue piece in her palms. She doesn’t even hear Poe come up, doesn’t even know of his presence until he wraps his arms around her shoulders from behind and presses a kiss to her cheek. She stills at the touch, but then leans into him, eyes closing at the kiss. 

“Have you eaten?” he mumbles. 

“No.” 

“You need to eat.”

“I know.” 

With that he’s gone, and he returns a few minutes later with a platter, and sits with her as she eats. 

It’s getting easier.


	7. VII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Sexual content - female masturbation, oral sex

“Right.” 

She throws her javelin up to defend her right flank, just as Finn’s blade comes down on it. Though she knows his control, knows he wouldn’t have actually hit her, the harsh sound of metal against metal has her heart skipping a beat anyway.

They’ve been at it for about an hour, now. Poe’s come around occasionally, in between watching her and watching the Emperor wrestle with his General. She would’ve liked a chance to watch as well, but it’s not proper or allowed - not that it’s stopped her from watching before, and she’s certain if she wanted to watch Poe would give whoever protested some excuse for her. Besides, she has her own training to worry about. 

The men box and wrestle, but she has to be taught more combative ways. In a fight against an assassin, she will more likely have her weapon, and she needs to know how to use it. 

“Right.” 

She blocks again, and Finn pulls back, frowning. “Your mind is elsewhere.” 

“Sorry,” she apologizes, panting. “I just-“ 

“Take a break,” Finn says, his blade returning to his side. “And keep your mind on your right flank.” 

“Right,” Rey mutters, walking to where her water is. She pours some from the jug into the cup and takes a long drink. She nearly spits it out as she lowers it and sees her Emperor leaning against one of the pillars surrounding the training grounds. He’s nude, oiled and dirty from his wrestling with his General, and watching her. She wipes the water from her mouth, staring at him. 

“Did you win?” Finn calls, and she turns to see him walking up beside her, smiling at the Emperor. 

“Twice,” the Emperor calls back, stepping down into the training area. “Her?” 

“Three times,” Finn says, sounding proud. 

“You’ve been easy on me,” Rey mutters, steadily keeping her eyes above the Emperor’s waist in fear of her blush completely overtaking her face in front of her instructor. It doesn’t help, though. His shoulders are still attractive, chest handsome and face even moreso. He’s grinning at her. That’s definitely not helping. 

“May I borrow your sword?” the Emperor asks, looking at Finn. 

“At least clothe yourself somewhat,” Finn scolds. “She’ll land some blows on you.” 

“I would if she had a blade,” he replies. “But what damage can that do?” he asks, nodding towards the javelin. “Bruises at best.” 

“Suit yourself,” Finn says with a shrug, offering his sword to the Emperor. Rey watches as he swings it a few times, getting a feel for the weight of it.   
He’s not prepared when she swings her own weapon and knocks him on the hip. It’s a light tap, at best, but it’s a hit nonetheless, and startles him. He stares at her, surprised. 

“One,” Rey declares, grinning. 

“She doesn’t go easy,” Finn replies. 

“That I know,” the Emperor mutters, stepping forward. 

“No hitting his head or between his legs, Rey. He lacks a helmet and protection,” Finn calls as she throws her javelin up to block the Emperor’s first strike. 

“Yes!” she calls back, pushing against his blade. 

He’s faster than Finn. He’s stronger than Finn, as well, and she finds herself stumbling back a few times at the force of his blows. But it’s a challenge, and a good one, and she grins at the burning in her biceps and her calves. It feels good, her head light from the exertion and effort she’s putting into the fight.   
He manages to nick her once, twice, and she’s grateful of his control of his hand because she has no doubt if he hadn’t stopped he would have seriously hurt her. He doesn’t, though, and she knows full well that once one of them is defeated he will spread honey over the wounds and kiss her in apology.

The sweet thought is her downfall, ten minutes after they started the fight. His blow’s too hard, and she falls backwards to the dirt. He goes down soon after, and the way he’s pinning her to the ground is entirely unnecessary. If it had been a real fight to the death, if he’d been an intruder of the palace, he would’ve just slit her throat and been done with it. But no, he moves over top of her, pinning her hands to the ground by holding her javelin down. She can feel the sharp side of his sword against the tender skin of her jaw, and the heat of his exerted body over hers. Her legs part to accommodate him out of instinct, and she can feel his hot breath fan across her face as he pins her. 

He is terrifying, for the first time in a long time, but she can’t bring herself to be truly scared of him as she feels heat pool in her lower stomach at him above her. 

“Yield,” he says, and it comes out as half-word, half-growl. 

She won’t go down so easily. She tests her hands around her javelin. His grip’s stronger, putting his entire upper body strength into keeping her down. The sword at her throat isn’t going to be removed any time soon, either. 

She could wrap her legs around his waist, could catch him off guard, could throw him over and pin him like he’d pinned her. But she doesn’t really want to. She finds she likes the heat of his body over hers, as much as she’d enjoy being over him in victory. She just grins at him, giving him the slightest of nods. 

“I yield,” she breathes.

-

She was right. He does clean the nicks he gives her, does spread them with honey, and apologizes with his mouth on hers. She doesn’t get him for long, though. He disappears into the bedroom with Poe soon after. No moans are heard, just soft words exchanged between two lovers before they tumble into bed. Silence falls soon after, and she can understand it. She’s worn out, too, from sparring both him and Finn. 

Despite her exhaustion, what sleep Rey does get is restless. She’s lost count of the amount of times she’s turned over, stopped tallying how many times she wakes to the image of his face, dirty and soaked in sweat above her. Not to mention the amount of times she wakes to feeling hot and agitated, remembering both his body above hers and his hand between her legs. 

After the fifth interruption, she groans, a curse spilling from her lips. Sleep’s eluding her, and doing a damn good job of it. 

When had the man she so loathed at the beginning of her time here become the man who interrupted her dreams in the most intimate way? When had she started to feel something other than hatred for him? A while ago, she’d guess, when he started to show her comfort and kindness, but it still frustrates her when she closes her eyes and sees his chest again, bruised and oiled and covered in dust from the wrestling ground. 

Feeling too hot, she sheds the loose tunic she’s wearing over her head and lets it fall somewhere behind the head of the couch. Immediately she sighs, lifting her arms above her head and spreading her legs in an attempt to cool down. Without the rain, it’s hot and sticky. She can feel the moisture clinging to her skin, and stretches a bit, wanting to move but needing sleep. She closes her eyes again, and damns her thoughts as he appears in them once again. 

“This is ridiculous,” she mutters, hand moving between her thighs to her bare skin, smooth from the pumice stone she’s taken to using over the past months. She wastes no time in finding her clit, needing release soon if she’s going to get sleep. 

This time she welcomes the visions behind her lids, opens her mind to the memories of his chest against her back, his hand between her thighs. Her own fingers are a poor imitation of his, far too small and light. It frustrates her and she whines again, trying to slip her fingers between her slick lips. 

She finds her slit easily enough, and bites her lip as she slips her forefinger inside herself. It’s a far cry from his, and she tries another. The combination is slightly larger than one of his, and she has to keep from whining again as there’s a twinge of pain, the slightest stretch. She bites her lip harder, trying to remember what he’d done. He’d ground the heel of his palm against her clit, that’s what he’d done. 

Rey tries it and moans, too loud. She doesn’t care, needs to cool down, needs to get some sleep. This isn’t helping her cool down, but she hopes that she’ll heat herself up enough that the sticky air will feel cool once she’s done. Or maybe she’ll tire herself out enough that she can just pass out and not have to worry about the heat. Either way, this seems like the best option to rid herself of her heartbeat thudding just above her clit.

It’s not enough, even after grinding her palm against her clit. She huffs, other arm flopping over her head from where she’d been trying to grip at her breast, give the same pressure that Poe had given her with his mouth. 

She sees movement out of the corner of her eye and pulls her fingers from her cunt so quickly it’s painful, propping herself up on her elbow as she tries to find its source.

There’s no fire in their room, having been blown out long ago. But she can see Poe in the doorway, just barely visible.

She’s frozen as he strikes stone with stone and lights the basin next to the doorway. The man looks debauched, chest littered with bite marks from past nights and hair wild from the bed. He says nothing, eyes dark. He bites his lip and she watches as he steps down into the living area, gaze on hers. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice low and gruff. From sleep or arousal, she can’t tell, but she watches him as he walks towards her. He’s bare, as he is when he sleeps with the Emperor, and she can see his cock between his legs, skin mostly free of hair like hers. She bites her lip before flopping back against the couch, huffing in annoyance.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she asks, eyes never lifting from his groin. She hears his soft laughter – whether it’s at her annoyed tone, her question, or the fact that she’s staring at him, she can’t tell.

“I can hear you in the other room, you know.”

“I wasn’t trying to be quiet,” Rey mutters. “I’m trying to cool down and get to sleep.” 

Poe smirks. “And touching yourself is the best way to do that?” 

“It’s either that or lie here and sweat to death.”

“Or call one of the servants for cool water for a bath,” Poe replies. “But I like this option better.” 

“I would, too, if it was working,” she mumbles, sitting up slightly. “It’s not.” 

“Maybe a different approach,” Poe says, and then he’s kneeling before her and grabbing her calves, swinging her so that her legs are off the edge of the couch. 

“I’ve tried what I know,” Rey insists, a bit snappily. “I just need-“

Her eyes widen as he spreads her legs and pulls her right to the edge of the couch. Her hands scramble for purchase on the fabric of the cushion as he arranges her legs across his shoulders, dark curls of his hair brushing her inner thighs. “What-“ she starts, but then he’s licking a hot, wet stripe up her cunt and her fingers clench in the fabric.

It feels strange. Good, but strange, and she bites her lip as he does it again. The fire’s coming from one side of the room, so half his face is golden while the rest is shrouded in shadow. 

“Which hand?” he asks, voice rough as he pulls back from his second lick. 

“What?” she blurts again. 

“Which hand was between your thighs?” 

She offers him her right hand and he takes it. Her breath hitches when he licks at her fingers, still damp. He takes the two fingers that had been inside of her between his lips and sucks, hard. She stares, remembering his first time touching her and his explaining how hands can be pleasurable. He wasn’t lying. He made good on that promise. 

His tongue flicks between her fingers, and she aches to know how it’ll feel on her clit, so she pulls her fingers away slowly and then laces them in his hair, pushing him down a bit more. 

He laughs as she guides him. “Getting the idea, now?” 

“Please,” she begs, needing something, anything against her cunt. Preferably his face, but she’ll take anything at this point. His hand, his mouth, hell even his elbow might work now. 

He obliges her, though, and she lets out a whine as he buries his mouth against her. His nose is pressed against her clit and she clenches her fingers in his hair as he licks at her slit, tongue traveling through her folds and then up towards her clit. Like the Emperor in the bath, he seems intent on teasing her, giving her the slightest flick before returning to suck at her swollen lips. 

“Poe-“ she says. It’s mean to come out as a warning, a threat to make him move faster, but it comes out as a soft whimper. 

He pulls back, and she wants to smack him. “Careful, love,” he mutters. “He’s still asleep. Don’t want to wake him, do you?” 

She stills, fingers digging into the cushions, before shaking her head. She bites her lip as he goes back, flicking hard enough at her clit that she feels her teeth break the skin of her lip. She tastes blood soon after, but can’t bring herself to care as Poe continues licking at her.

Again, movement catches her eye in her peripherals, and her gaze snaps to the doorway. It’s too late for waking him up, it seems. 

The Emperor’s standing there, one hand braced on the frame and the other by his side. He’s just as naked as Poe is, but he doesn’t look as debauched as his male consort. His body isn’t littered with marks as Poe’s is. His hair looks like he’s run his hand through it to tame it slightly, and he does it again as she watches, breath caught in her chest.

Now clean from dust and dirt and oil, and without bath water in the way, she can see him fully. He’s magnificent. Poe is, as well, when she thinks about it, but she hardly has time to see the Emperor while she sees Poe almost every day. She lets her eyes travel his chest, some of his pale skin lined with scars and one larger one on his side that she hadn’t seen beneath the dirt of the wrestling ground and the water of the bath. It’s with sudden clarity that she remembers how he got it, remembers holding his head as he’d had it stitched up. 

Her eyes travel downwards, finally taking in what’s between his legs. He’s hard already, and makes no move to cover his cock as she stares at him. Wonderful, she thinks, somewhat sarcastically. More to fuel her fantasies. Though she’s not sure how it’ll feel between her legs; he looks bigger than she can manage, if she’s honest with herself. 

She moves her eyes back to his after perhaps lingering too long on the apex of his thighs, and finds that he’s watching her. Her eyes close briefly as Poe decides to suck on her clit, and that feels better than any grinding or rubbing that she’d experienced. “Again,” she breathes, and he follows her orders willingly. 

When she opens her eyes, he’s still in the doorway. She wants him closer, wants him near her, wants him touching her. But he makes no move towards her as Poe alternates between sucking and flicking, and she lets her whine be louder than ever before to try to get a rise out of the Emperor. 

He still doesn’t move, but she’s too far gone to bother with him anymore. Her hips buck, and not unlike the Emperor and his hand, Poe lets her grind against his face. She fists his hair and moans as he slips his tongue just inside. It’s enough, it seems, that slightest touch combined with his nose nudging against her clit, because she cums hard enough to see stars behind her lids. She’s not entirely sure what sound she makes, if it’s either of their names or something else entirely, but she can feel Poe continuing. 

It’s not until his hands are grabbing her ass and tugging her even more forward that she realizes he means to make her cum again. “Poe, you don’t-“ she starts, because even with the Emperor it had been one and done. 

He says nothing and just suckles on her clit harder. Sensitive from her previous orgasm, she whines at the pain-pleasure that comes as a result. He goes from sucking to licking, broad strokes that cover almost the entirety of her cunt and soothe the sensitivity slightly. She sighs, glancing towards the doorway again. 

The Emperor’s still there, and she watches him, lets him see how her eyes move from his and roam down his form to his hard cock between his legs again. She lets him see her stare at him before looking back towards his eyes. The moan she gives next is perhaps a bit exaggerated, in an attempt to lure him in, but he still does nothing, just watching. 

She lets it go, for now. She’ll ask him why he didn’t touch her later, when Poe’s tongue isn’t flicking against her swollen clit. She bucks again and arches as her second orgasm takes her, stronger than the first. Now she’s too sensitive for another, so she pushes Poe’s head away after one final, broad lick. “Too…” she starts, breathless. 

“Sensitive,” he finishes, and she nods, smiling down at him. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. 

Her smile turns into an outright grin and she nods, reaching for him. He goes up on his knees as she bends down, one hand still tangled in his hair and the other reaching down to feel his shoulders as he kisses her soundly. She can taste herself on his mouth and hums against his lips, liking it. 

“Thank you,” she mutters. 

“I heard you and couldn’t resist,” he mumbles. “Has he shown you that?” 

“No,” Rey admits. 

“I was the first, then.” 

“Yes,” she replies, nails scraping along his back as she moves her hips and her cunt brushes the rough fabric of the couch. It’s enough to send tingles further up her spine, the sensation both painful and pleasurable at the same time. She can’t resist grinding against it, just the slightest bit, but the pain overpowers the pleasure at the second rock of her hips and she stops. “You were the first.” 

“And you liked it?” 

She has to laugh at that, eyes darting to the now-empty doorway before she bends to kiss him once more.

-

It’s going to rain again. She can feel it in the air, see it in the clouds overhead. But it’s not quite raining yet, so she stays up in the tree, javelin leaning against the trunk should someone come along. Finn’s with Poe, off doing something that doesn’t involve her. She’s grateful for the break, arms and shoulders aching. Finn’s been upping her training, after seeing her potential with the Emperor. She both loathes and loves it. 

Rey doesn’t even have to look down to know he’s there, having found her after a meeting with the General. “Want to explain to me why you didn’t touch me last night?” she asks, using the small knife Poe’d given her the week before to cut the apple in her lap, skinning it as long as she can in a curl before tucking the bitter skin between her lips and chewing it. 

“How is it that every time I approach you in a tree, you demand to know why I haven’t touched you?” he asks, sounding a bit exasperated. “I didn’t know I was invited to join.” 

“Then you’re a fool,” she tells him, running her knife along the skin of the apple and humming at the long spiral of skin she produces. She tears off a bit and pops it into her mouth. “I thought I was plenty inviting.” 

“Forgive me for not wanting to intrude on a tender moment between the two of you.” 

“We are yours,” she says, glancing down at him. She’s not very high up, her arms too sore for climbing higher and fear of Zeus’s lightning too great to go to the top when there’s the threat of a storm. “You can do as you please.” It’s muttered, and she looks back to her curl of apple skin, ripping another piece off to chew on.

“Just because I can do as I please doesn’t mean I will,” he explains. 

A few months ago, those words would’ve shocked her. Upon her arrival, she would’ve expected him to take her body like he’d taken her from her temple. But he still hasn’t, and she’s getting impatient, now. The dreams aren’t helping. She can count four since her and Poe’s encounter five days ago. 

“I would’ve liked for you to have joined,” she says as she shifts on the branch, getting ready to jump from it. She tosses the apple down to him and he catches it in his large, pale hands, waiting for her to come down.

“Then I apologize,” he says, as she makes the short jump to the ground, brushing bark bits from her peplos.

He doesn’t sound particularly sorry, and when she looks up at him, he’s smiling a bit. 

“Why do you smile like that?” she asks, frowning at him. 

“You’ve changed.” 

“How so?” 

“The woman I took from her temple would never have called her Emperor a fool so simply. Perhaps in the heat of your anger, but not so plainly.” 

Her Emperor, he says. Her heart skips a beat. “I’m no different from that woman,” Rey protests. “I’m still me.” 

He just hums, biting into the peeled apple. 

“I wasn’t done with that,” she says. 

“Forgive me,” he mutters around the fruit. “I’ll pick you another.” 

“No, don’t,” she replies, shaking her head as he takes a step forward. She grabs her javelin quickly and walks with him.

The air’s getting cooler, now. Autumn is arriving swiftly. She’s still fine with bare arms and thin fabrics, but soon enough she’ll need a cloak as she walks with him. 

“You’re stronger,” he explains. “Look at your arms.” 

“I know how strong I am. Strong enough to hold my own against you.” It’s said teasingly, and she smiles as he snorts, shaking his head before taking another bite of his apple. 

“Would you have dared to speak to me like this before?” the Emperor asks, and she pauses, walking in silence for a few heartbeats. 

“I have spoken to you like this before,” she insists. “As you said – every time you approach me in the orchards, I have demanded that you touch me.” 

“But would have you demanded it in your first week?” 

No. That answer is no. She’s quiet, looking down at her sandaled feet. Her silence speaks for her.

“Then you have changed,” he explains. 

She’s still quiet, trying to pinpoint when she stopped being afraid and started to feel affection for him. She can’t. “The temple is gone, perhaps the woman is as well.” 

“The temple remains, it’s just weakened,” the Emperor replies. “But the woman has gained strength.”

She smiles a bit, showing him her javelin. “Strength to protect the Emperor.” 

“I would trust no one else,” he says, and her heart warms at the truth she hears in his statement. 

“Poe?” she questions, raising one dark brow at him. 

“Well, yes, I trust him, too. I thought that was a given,” he explains, and she snorts in laughter, shaking her head as she returns the weapon so that it’s braced against her back. Finn had tied a leather cord around it for carrying purposes, though she removes it when sparring with him. The knot is loose enough to be tugged apart easily in case of an attack, but strong enough to keep it on her back.

“Are you that wanting of me?” 

Her eyes snap to his face, trying to meet his gaze, but he’s looking ahead, towards the sea. 

“What do you mean?” she asks, though she knows exactly what he means. She just wants to hear him say it for himself. 

“Are you that desperate for my touch?” he questions. “I thought you and Poe would’ve been enjoying yourselves plenty.” 

“You are two beings, with different desires and different ways to sate mine,” Rey explains. “Am I a burden for wanting you?” 

The answer’s immediate, and said so quickly he almost stumbles over the simple syllable. “No. No, you are not a burden, never think yourself that.” 

“Then what?” Rey asks, and it’s here she stops. She crosses her arms over her chest and waits for him to realize that she’s still. It doesn’t take long. He gets maybe two strides from her before he turns to look at her. “I’ve expressed my interest plenty. Are you not interested in me?” 

He stares at the ground. “No, no, that’s not it.” 

“Then why have you waited this long?” She’s only slightly frustrated. “I am yours for the taking.” 

“Do you want me to take you right here?” 

She blinks at him. “What?” 

He lifts his head and meets her eyes. His are lighter than Poe’s, slightly warmer despite the fact that their personalities should say otherwise. “Do you want me to take you right here?” he asks, again. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“There’s no one around,” he explains. “If you’d like me to take you against a tree, then it will happen.” 

Rey huffs, becoming more irritable. “That’s … “ She makes some sort of vague gesture with her hands, something to indicate a negative, something to reassure him, “-that’s not what I’m asking, Ren.” 

The name slips from her lips before she can stop it fully, and she freezes, hands still raised in front of her. 

His face goes from something hardened, something with furrowed brows and parted lips and dark eyes, to confusion in a heartbeat. He stops, blinking in surprise at her. “… what did you call me?” 

Rey stares at him, heart sinking. “… Ren,” she says. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, I just-“ 

“Where did you learn that?” 

“Poe,” she blurts immediately. “Poe calls you Ren.” She hates how scared she sounds, so small, so weak. She feels it too, beneath his gaze, and lowers her eyes to the ground. “I apologize.” 

A moment of silence. And then, “… I like you better when you were demanding me to touch you. You’ve done no wrong. It is my name. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say it.” 

“I don’t think I have,” she admits. 

His hand on her jaw guides her face back up, and she meets his eyes. A second later she’s being kissed, and she opens her mouth to let him in, eyes slipping closed. His other hand finds her waist, and she reaches up to cup the back of his neck. 

It’s a short kiss, and she keeps her eyes closed as he rests his forehead against hers. 

“My reasoning for not lying with you has nothing to do with you,” he mutters. “The story of me and her is a story that I take no joy in telling, which is why you haven’t heard it from myself or from Poe.”

She knows those kinds of stories. The stories that leave her tongue feeling like ash and tasting like bile. She has a few of those as well, has told Poe one or two. Rey nods. “I understand.” She understands, yes, but she is still curious about the her he mentioned. But she will not push.

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then you understand that my reason for not joining you last night was not because of you, or Poe.” 

“Yes.” 

She does understand. She understands, and she feels sick to her stomach for assuming wrongly about the man holding her so gently. She swallows the bile in the back of her throat, wincing at the sting of its acid. 

The kiss he presses to her cheek is sweet, and she hates herself even more as she closes her eyes and leans into it. He obliges, keeping his lips to her cheek even as a raindrop falls against the other. 

She pulls back, looking up at the sky only to get a raindrop right between her brows. She flinches in surprise at its coolness, reaching up to touch the drop of water as the man before her chuckles softly. 

“We should head back,” she says, though she doesn’t feel another drop on her skin for another few heartbeats. Zeus is slow, today, it seems. She thanks him briefly for allowing her a bit more time with the Emperor before it pours. 

“It’s just water,” the Emperor declares. “Come, I want to know where you found the knife that’s tucked into your belt.” 

She obliges and falls into step with him, feeling two more raindrops as they fall on her skin. “Poe gave it to me.” 

“Did Poe tell you where it came from?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

“It’s mine.” 

“Oh.” 

That’s the only thing she can think to say as he chuckles. She likes the sound. It’s deep like thunder in the distance, the kind of thunder that warns of a fierce storm coming but promises a sort of lazy, dozing peace in the meantime.


	8. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Graphic violence, blood, and sexual content  
> A huge, ginormous, super tight hug to MissHarper, who had this lovely piece commissioned from one of my favorite artists ever. It's absolutely stunning - I love how she included everyone! Thank you so, so much MissHarper, and I hope you enjoy this new chapter! Check out the incredible artwork here: http://thedarkside-and-thelight.tumblr.com/post/159907169841/i-had-this-amazing-picture-made-by-the-wonderful

She’s sparring with Finn when the attack occurs.

The training grounds are a bit away from the main palace, the size of the grounds requiring more space, and the nature of what happens there unsuitable for the formality of the rest of the property. It takes longer for the panic to spread, for the yelling in the language she’s still unfamiliar with to reach her ears. 

Rey looks up towards the noise of the soldiers coming towards them, and her eyes widen at the thick black smoke pluming from the nearby palace. Her heart stops just before it plummets, seemingly down to Hades. She freezes, watching as the soldiers get closer.

Finn’s blade falls just as the yelling becomes comprehensible. He looks shocked for a fraction of a second before he’s turning to her. 

“The palace is under attack.” 

Her heart sinks and she watches as Finn runs towards where three other soldiers have arrived. She’s too far, she can’t hear them, and she knows she wouldn’t be able to understand anyway. 

She has her javelin, but her blade is near the water jug. She lunges for it, grabbing it and hoisting her javelin in the other hand. She runs over to the soldiers who are staring at her in shock, “Who? How many? What of the Emperor – where is he?” Rey demands. 

She tightens her fingers around the javelin, palms slicking with sweat as she waits for a reply. 

Finn relays her questions back in Latin. She listens intently to the soldiers’ responses, catching ‘rebel’ briefly. “A group of rebels. Small, but they’ve already lit fire to the front gardens,” Finn explains as the soldier to the far right speaks. “Hux said there were thirteen. There’s been no sight of five of them, eight are being captured.” 

“Where is he?” she hisses, fidgeting. Five missing armed rebels, one missing Emperor. The odds aren’t good. 

Finn barks towards the other soldiers. There’s no response from them. 

It’s enough for her. “Find Poe, tell him I’m going east,” she orders, turning and running. If Finn calls after her, she hears nothing. She’s already off, heading towards the smoking palace. 

Her feet are bare, used to the soft, dusty ground of the training grounds, and she bites her lip as she runs across sun-heated stones. Her shoulders ache. She’s never run with the weapons, can’t even throw the javelin properly yet without Finn’s hands on her arm and back. 

The wave of heat hits her like a wall, and she tries to gasp but ends up inhaling hot air. It’s nearly suffocating, and she almost stumbles as she runs up the steps towards the main courtyard. 

Smoke’s everywhere. Her eyes sting as she rushes into the palace, and she squeezes her eyes shut against their watering. It doesn’t help, and she curses. She can’t cover her mouth, can’t wipe her eyes with anything; she’s wearing her breast band and subligar, nothing to lift to hold to her mouth and nose. She coughs, a violent action that shakes her entire chest as she starts running again, heating towards their quarters. She has no doubt he would’ve headed there, to see if she and Poe were safe. If he had been with his advisors, the soldiers would know his location. He has to be looking for her. 

There’s a figure in the smoke and she stops, skidding to a halt in front of one of the women she only somewhat recognizes. She’s carrying a large container of water, presumably to put out the fires in the front gardens. Rey glances towards them, and feels her breath hitch in her throat at the smoke rising higher into the sky with every heartbeat. “Ren,” she rasps, looking back towards the woman not having the time or energy to remember the Latin she’d learned. 

The woman points to the left, towards their quarters as Rey’d feared. She nods in thanks and takes off again. 

She should’ve seen it sooner. She should’ve looked up, taken her attention away from Finn for more than half of a second as they sparred. Perhaps then she could’ve seen it, could’ve gotten to him sooner. 

The smoke’s not as thick here as she turns down the more private hallway, the space tucked away from the more common areas. Good. It hasn’t spread as far as she’d thought. She can see somewhat clearer, breathe somewhat more easily. The rebels haven’t set fire to the inner courtyards yet, just the front gardens. The Emperor’s rooms are in the back. 

Her eyes still sting, but it’s more tolerable. What’s becoming less manageable is her grip on her javelin. She needs to re-grip it every dozen strides or so, her palms slippery from the sweat coating her skin. 

She coughs, the heat overwhelming as she tries not to hack so hard her lungs rattle behind her ribs. Her heart already feels like it’s stopped beating in terror; she doesn’t need her lungs to feel the same. 

A pained shout in Latin has her nearly skidding across the floor as she tries to find its origin. It’s not Ren, she knows, but it could be a soldier who found him or even the rebels. There’s another shout, from the left towards the guests’ rooms, and she takes off down that way. 

She prays that he’s all right, prays that he’s been unharmed by the rebels. She prays that Poe might’ve gotten there sooner than she had, and that the shout she’d heard was from one of the attackers. 

She’s not sure she could handle if it was anyone else. 

There’s a group of men down the end of the corridor, and her heart clenches as she sees the figure on the ground. Where are the soldiers, the guards? She sees none, but recognizes the Emperor. She feels sick with dread at the pool of blood beneath him, but thanks the gods that he’s still sitting up, propped on his elbows. She can hear the raise in volume of his voice, the snarls he’s throwing their way despite the blade pressed to his shoulder to prevent him from getting up. She can’t decipher any of them, but he’s alive despite the red staining the marble floor. 

They’re too far away. She can’t throw that far, not yet, so she takes two long strides forward, using her bare feet as an advantage on the marble floors. She has no doubt that if she was wearing sandals, they would’ve heard the leather slap against the stone. 

Still, silence is no match for sight, and she can see exactly when one of them spots her. He turns, and she can see four of them. Four of the five. A quick glance proves that the fifth is down, his head bleeding profusely, having been cracked open on the stone floor - the blood she'd seen was not Ren's, then. She resists the urge to retch, tearing her eyes away from the body and looking towards the Emperor. 

He doesn’t look surprised at her appearance, but is instead mouthing for her to leave, for her to escape. She can see as he forms the words, no sound spilling from his lips. She watches as he hisses and snarls at the blade that digs deeper into his shoulder, blood beading along his pale skin as the skin is sliced.

“Tace,” one of the rebels demands, and she doesn’t know the word but hates how it’s spoken to the man lying on the floor. 

They don’t attack her. Perhaps they don’t perceive her as a threat despite the two weapons she has in her hands and the one hidden tucked along her hip. They’re wrong in their assumption, then. 

She takes a step forward and throws her weapon, though it’s somewhat clumsy. The javelin doesn’t go perfectly, but it hits her target nonetheless. She’d been aiming for the back of one of the rebels, but it hits him in the shoulder. The weight of it, plus the head of the weapon in his shoulder, sends him crumpling to the ground. 

It’s easier to run without the larger, heavier weapon on her hand, and she rushes for it, skidding across the stone and yanking the javelin from the man’s shoulder before one of the rebels can. It’s by sheer dumb luck that she sees the man above her, his shadow on the marble floor, and she jerks the end of the javelin up to hit him hard in the head with a sickening ‘crack’. He howls, hand going to his temple as he falls to his knees. She grimaces at the sight before she turns around to find one of them grabbing the end of her javelin, the man’s grip stronger than hers as she tries to yank it back. Her sword had been dropped to the ground in favor of her more familiar javelin, and she kicks the blade towards the Emperor. It hurts her to see him struggle to stand, blood dripping sluggishly from a stab wound in his thigh, but she’s grateful for the help as he grabs it. 

He’s terrifying. She’s frozen as he lunges up despite the wound in his leg, despite the blood dripping sluggishly from a nick along his forehead. His face resembles more of a monster from the stories of times before than it does man, and she watches as he runs the other rebel through with her blade, no mercy given to the man who’s holding her weapon. She watches in horror as the rebel looks down in surprise before he sputters, blood spilling from his lips and splattering her. She gags, swallowing bile at the sight of the sword through his stomach, the blood coming from his chin. 

She’s not sure she wants to use that weapon again, ever. She watches as Ren yanks it out, as the man falls to the floor and starts to bleed out onto the marble. He’s breathing hard, eyes dark and wild as they turn up towards her. 

The remaining rebel is a young man, younger than Poe or Ren, and wiser than the older men at his feet. He turns and runs towards the other end of the corridor, and Rey lifts her weapon to aim until Ren’s hand secures itself around her wrist, stopping her. He holds her tight enough that she can feel her bones grinding, but she knows that his pain’s overwhelming and doesn’t blame him as she looks up at him. He’s paler than usual, and she wants to curse as he pants from the exertion of pulling himself up, hot air fanning her face. The heat’s getting fiercer, the air hazier as the smoke finds its way into the corridor. 

The monster who ran a man through so easily disappears, his glare falling away as he grimaces and stumbles towards her. She grabs him around the waist, her knees buckling from his weight as she struggles to keep them both from crashing to the marble floor.

“What is it?” Rey demands, as she guides him back down to the ground. 

“Thigh,” he mutters, and he’s coughing a moment later. She glances towards her blade at his side and reaches behind her, untying the breast band and unwrapping it just enough to have some extra fabric. She cuts the end with the sword and tucks the new edge along her skin before tearing the piece in half and covering his mouth with it to keep the smoke out. She covers her mouth and nose with the other piece. 

It’s torn away a moment later as he pulls her down on top of him. She’s careful not to touch his thigh, careful to keep herself suspended above him on her arms as he kisses her so fiercely she can taste blood. It concerns her for half a heartbeat, something inside of him perhaps the cause, but then she runs her tongue over the split in his lip and understands. 

He’s far from gentle, teeth clashing against hers and big hand tangled in her hair. She feels too hot, a combination of the heat from the garden fires and his body against hers, but she doesn’t dare pull away as he tugs on her lower lip with his teeth. 

She can feel his hand as it slips up her breast band, the fabric coming loose. She pulls back at that, staring down at him. 

“You need care,” she breathes, glancing pointedly to the wound in his thigh, sluggishly bleeding now. 

“I need you,” he growls back, and she’s yanked back down. She can feel the fabric around her chest slip against her sweaty skin as it’s pulled away so he can touch her, but she doesn’t care. He’s hurt, but he’s alive. She’d gotten there in time. 

“Sir!” 

The General. She sits up immediately, scrambling off of Ren and wrapping her arm around her chest to cover herself. The red-headed man comes around the corner, flanked by several other guards, Finn included. Poe’s right behind Finn, and rushes forward. Rey’s expecting him to go to Ren, but instead he picks her up, hiding her from the view of the other men as Finn helps gather Ren. She lets him haul her up and pull her to his chest, lets his arms wrap around her.

“The fire’s been extinguished,” Hux explains. “We have soldiers and servants working on clearing the smoke from the buildings.” 

“He needs medical attention,” Rey insists, looking around Poe’s shoulder. “He has a stab wound on his thigh, and cuts on his shoulder and forehead."

“He’ll get it,” Poe assures her, the words muttered against her temple as he kisses her sweat-slicked. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?” 

“No, I’m fine,” she insists, pressing against him as she watches Ren, now supported between Finn and another soldier she doesn’t know. “I’m fine.” 

Her heart’s still thudding, and she can smell the sweat that the fear and fire brought. Poe’s bare skin’s hot against hers, almost overly so, but she lets him hold her as she watches the Emperor be taken away.

“You did well,” Poe mumbles. “You did so well.” His grip on her is so tight she can barely breathe as the adrenaline starts to fade away. Panic replaces it, and she glances down towards the men lying near her feet. Her bare feet feel wet and slick, and she doesn’t have to look down at her toes to know that she’s standing in a puddle of blood that’s – thank the gods – not hers, or his. But still. She shudders, burying her face in his neck. She’s not crying, but she’s shaking terribly. Poe’s grip tightens further.

“I killed them,” she chokes. 

“If you hadn’t, they would’ve killed him,” Poe insists. “They were a group exiled from the city about a month ago. They saw the attack on Jakku’s temple and sought to recreate it here, intent on taking the Emperor as prisoner. They were fools who thought the gods would be on their side.” 

Were. It’s another reminder that she’d killed them, and she wraps her arms around Poe’s neck, sobbing into his shoulder. 

She can feel his arm beneath her knees, and lets him pick her up and carry her away from the dead men around her. She curls into him, pressing her face to his shoulder and moving her arms to cross over her chest, covering herself as he carries her through the palace. 

There’s still smoke, though less than before. She can feel the air moving around – they must be fanning, trying to clear the air again. There’s still heat, and she can feel her forehead bead with sweat as he carries her through a particularly hot hallway. It’ll take longer for that to dissipate, for the everything to return to the way it was – if it ever will.

“You’re all right,” Poe mutters, though his voice shakes. “You’re all right, and he will be too, I promise.” 

-

Sleep is elusive. It’s not exactly a surprise to him. The wound in his thigh twinges seemingly with every breath, and Poe’s fidgeting beside him near constantly. After his consort twists and turns again, Ren huffs, glancing towards the other man. 

“Do you wish to go sleep with her?” 

It’s not said unkindly, but he is getting a bit annoyed at Poe’s moving. His thigh makes trying to sleep difficult enough; he doesn’t need a restless lover beside him as well. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s nearly snapped, and Ren raises his eyebrows at Poe’s anger.

“What is it?” he asks. 

There’s silence. He can hear Finn shifting outside the door leading to the courtyard, a precaution should someone else attempt to take his life. He finds it unlikely; the men who’d entered the palace had been foolish and terribly outnumbered. A second attempt is laughable.

“You nearly died today, or are you forgetting?” Poe hisses, moving away from Ren. The Emperor sits up to the best of his ability, watching as Poe stands and makes his way towards one of the basins, lighting the fire. It’s not much, the light low, but Ren can now see the furrow of Poe’s brow as he makes his way back to bed. The man doesn’t crawl back in, instead standing bare beside it. 

“I’m not forgetting,” Ren mutters. “It’s impossible to forget with these stitches in my thigh.” 

“We’re lucky it was your thigh,” Poe snarls. “It could’ve very well been your chest!” 

“Why are you so angry?” Ren demands, frowning towards the other man. 

With that, Poe sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “I should’ve told you where she was. I should’ve told you that she was training with Finn today, that she would’ve been at the training grounds instead of here. I should’ve told you.” 

“It’s not your job to alert me of her whereabouts,” Ren insists. “She could’ve finished early and wandered to the orchards again. She could’ve been here. It is not your duty to inform me of where you are, much less tell me where she is.” 

Poe climbs back onto the mattress, and Ren shifts at the slight dip, trying not to jostle his leg too much. The smaller man huffs and moves to rest his head on Ren’s chest, dark hair tickling bare skin. Ren wraps his arm around his lover and presses a kiss to the top of his head. 

“I still should’ve told you.”

“Yet you didn’t, and my soul remains with you,” Ren mutters against Poe’s curls. “My leg will heal in time.”

“Your leg shouldn’t have been hurt in the first place.” 

Poe’s stubble scratches against his palm as Ren cups his consort’s jaw and turns his face up to kiss him. 

“Sleep before I have Finn knock you out with the butt of his sword,” he says against Poe’s lips, loud enough for the soldier to hear. There’s a snort outside, and then a quick cough afterwards to cover the sound. Ren smiles. 

“I almost lost you today. That’s not so easily overcome,” Poe mumbles. 

“Then we’ll try to overcome it more tomorrow, but for now sleep.” His lips skirt from Poe’s to the other man’s cheek, moving up to his temple. He hears Poe’s sated sigh, and tightens his grip on the man. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Like hell you are,” Poe mutters, but Ren feels him shift and find a comfortable position with his head on Ren’s shoulder. The lower part of his body is far from Ren’s, avoiding the stitched-up wound in his leg. 

Sleep is still evading him, even as Poe’s breathing evens out soon after, exhaustion taking him under. Ren can feel when he falls asleep, his tense muscles falling lax after such a day. He presses another kiss to Poe’s temple before closing his eyes against the low light of the fire.

He doesn’t know how long he attempts sleep before she enters. 

Ren can hear her bare feet against the marble, the soft shifting of her tunic against her skin. The fire is still going, he can see the light behind his lids. She must’ve seen it and thought them awake.

Her footsteps slow as she approaches his side of the bed. He knows she’s there, lingering, and waits to see what she’ll do. He can hear her hitch of breath, the small choked sound she makes. 

It doesn’t take long before she’s bending, sweeping her lips along his cheek. She lingers, lips barely brushing against his skin before she’s straightening. He feels the brush of her tunic against his arm, and opens his eyes. The fire’s dimmed significantly, but it’s still enough to illuminate her as she turns and goes to walk back to the living area where she’s most likely been tossing and turning on her own couch. 

He reaches out to grab her wrist, fingers encircling it. She startles, but doesn’t pull away. Her head jerks around and she stares at him, eyes wide. 

She’s been crying. In the low light, he can see the tears tracks on her cheeks, and the way her lip’s been bitten swollen. 

He moves his hand down to hold hers, her small fingers in his. Her gaze darts down to his hand before moving up to his eyes again. 

Ren tugs her, trying to get her to come back. She doesn’t move for a moment; maybe because Poe’s there, maybe because she doesn’t want to add to his injury, but then she’s walking towards him and letting him pull her down onto the bed. 

There’s not quite enough room, and they both know it. “I don’t-“ she whispers, voice so low he barely catches it. 

He shakes his head, turning towards Poe and kissing his forehead until the other man wakes. “Love.” 

“Hm?” Poe mumbles. 

“Move,” Ren mutters. “Rey’s joining us.” 

“Hm,” Poe repeats, and shifts accordingly. Ren bites his lip at the twinge in his thigh as he moves over to accommodate for the young woman, but is rewarded by her crawling into bed next to him. 

Poe’s breathing evens out again, the man asleep before Ren can even bid him goodnight. He’s glad for it; he’s not sure he could handle two distraught lovers, honestly. He turns and kisses Rey’s forehead, her temples, her cheeks. She curls into him, hand hesitantly resting on his chest. He understands her apprehension.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles against her cheek. “Kiss me.”

She does. She kisses him so harshly he can nearly feel his lip split again. She kisses him so hard that her mouth is mashed against his, and there’s no softness in it. She kisses him like she’s drowning and he’s air, like he’s water and she’s parched. He kisses her back just as harshly, or as much as he can while lying down with Poe on his other side and his thigh aching something awful. 

It’s similar to their kiss back in the guest wing, bruising and almost violent. He has no regrets as he lets her kneel up to kiss him better, her hands moving into his hair to hold him in place. He lets her do as she likes until he feels her sob against his mouth, and then his free arm is coming up to wrap around her shoulders and pull her down to lie on his chest. 

“Breathe,” he mumbles against her lips, pulling back so she can try to calm herself against his chest, trying not to wake Poe. “Breathe, my love.”

It’s the first time he’s called her that. The word falls from his lips easily, as if he’s speaking to the man beside him. He feels rather than hears the hitch in her chest, and then she’s trying to calm her breathing so that she doesn’t wake said man. 

The sound she makes isn’t a sob. It’s some angry sound, some near growl. He’s never heard it before, never seen her this livid. He looks down and can see the furrow of her dark brows in the low light, can see how her pretty mouth’s downturned into a frown. She’s fuming. 

“What have I done?” she hisses, and he can’t tell whether her question’s directed towards him or if it’s rhetorical. He stays quiet, waiting to see if she’ll continue.  
“First the temple, and now you. What have I done to deserve this?” she asks, the words nearly spat into his skin. 

“The gods are cruel,” he admits. “And sometimes petty. But this was not the work of the gods. This was the work of men, who are arguably crueler and even more foolish.” 

She snorts, a sudden huff of hot air against his chest. She reaches up to rest her palm against his heart, and he moves his hand up and down her back to the best of his ability. He’s grateful Poe’s rolled over, leaving him to tend to the woman lying on his chest. 

She’s warm, like the sun she spends so much time in. He’s unsure of how much time she spent in the sun on Jakku, but he can see that her shoulders have turned brown and her skin’s littered with small, slightly darker marks. Though he’s aware of the aristocratic ways and the rich women’s typical desire for pale skin, he finds he likes how her skin is. He can try to trace the marks with his fingers, brush his lips across them. Her hair’s loose across her shoulders; she’s not wed, wasn’t before. She doesn’t wear the curled updos of the other women he’s seen, though he has seen her swipe pigment across her cheeks and lips at times, before she’s to step out and stand next to him.

He rubs up and down her back, feeling her peplos bunch beneath his hand. He smooths the fabric down before starting again. All at once she seems to deflate, curling into him and pressing her cheek to his chest. 

“If you were to die, what would happen to me?” 

It’s said so simply, so softly. The slightest lift at the end to indicate her question. It doesn’t sound sad, or angry, or anything, really. It’s just a simple question, and one he realizes he doesn’t exactly know the answer to. 

“You would stay with Poe,” he replies, because it’s the first thing he can think of.

“Would I, though?” 

“I would hope.” 

She curls her fingers, nails scratching along the skin of his pec. “As would I. I don’t wish to lose either of you.” It’s said pointedly, and she shifts, moving closer to him. He holds her tighter. 

“It was a strange circumstance. I’m not going anywhere.” It comes out mumbled, and he presses his lips to the top of her hair. He can feel the wet heat of her tears against his bare chest, and runs his hand up and down her side. 

She says nothing. He doesn’t offer her any other words of comfort. He just kisses her when she tilts her head up, brushing his lips against hers.

-

“Zeus is angry,” Rey says, looking out at the courtyard that, thankfully, wasn’t touched by flames.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Poe shift on his couch, curling into the thick wool of the blanket he’s draped around himself. “As is Poseidon. 3 wrecks in as many days.” 

“Near?” she asks, looking away from the sheets of water falling on the courtyard to look towards the man. 

“North,” Poe replies. 

It’s the kind of storm that turns everything dark, dark clouds blocking out all light aside from the dim fires that warm their chambers. She has no way to tell the exact time, no way to tell if the sun’s set or if the moon’s risen. She can only guess how long she and Poe have been sitting here. 

She’d gotten up a while ago, pulled back the curtains and leaned against the doorway, letting the damp air in a bit and letting the drops hit her arms, shoulders, and face. Anything aside from sitting in silence is welcome at this point. 

“How is he?” she asks, eyes moving back out towards the courtyard. 

“Sleeping much of the time,” Poe explains. “But when he isn’t, eager to get on his feet.” 

“Has he succeeded?” 

“Nearly. Hux wasn’t quite so kind, I’m told. Forced him back onto the bed and held him there.” 

She can imagine it. Though the man has a smaller frame, she’s seen him hold his own against Ren in wrestling matches. “The wound?” 

“Healing nicely, so I’m told.” 

She turns away from the doorway, pulling the curtains closed again and walking over to him. Lightning flashes and illuminates the entire room in stark silver for half a second before it disappears and they’re bathed in warm firelight again. 

The other consort looks tired. He has dark circles under his eyes, and Rey wonders how much sleep he’s really been getting. He’s been restless. The nightmares haven’t been easy on him, either. She’s woken more than once to him slipping out of his and Ren’s room to walk the courtyard over and over. She watches him through the window as he goes around and around, hand to his mouth and teeth worrying at his thumb. 

Rey sits next to him, falling into his arms easily. He wraps the blanket around them both, letting her curl up next to him. She rests her head on his chest, closing her eyes as she’s surrounded in warmth and the smell of him. She snuggles closer, arm draping across his bare chest. 

The sound of rain on the marble stones outside is almost deafening, but Poe’s heartbeat is louder beneath her ear. It skips a beat once, as she puts her hand on his opposite pec, fingers stroking his skin. 

“We almost lost him,” he whispers. 

“Yes.” 

It’s a simple word. Confirmation of what she already knows, of what she’s already accepted. It falls from her lips almost before he’s finished his sentence, and she closes her eyes as she shifts closer. His arm tightens around her waist. 

“He told me you asked what would become of us if he’d died.” 

“Yes,” she says again. 

“I’d hope we’d be wed.” 

She opens her eyes, looks up towards him in surprise at his suddenness. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.” His smile’s soft, and a bit sad, and his gaze isn’t towards her. It’s out towards the storm, instead. “If you’ll have me.” 

“Yes.” It comes out as quickly as her first. “Where would we go?” 

“Wherever you want.” 

“Jakku,” she replies immediately. “You’d be a merchant. They made good money with the traders.” 

“You’d lose your orchards and trees.” 

She frowns. He’s right. “South, then.” 

“South it is.” 

Thunder rolls somewhere close, and she closes her eyes again, pressing a kiss to his bare chest. He rubs his hand up and down her arm, along the bumps that have formed because of the cool air. “It won’t happen,” he tells her. “He’ll live through it all.” 

“Gods be willing,” she mutters. 

His heartbeat’s firm and steady beneath her cheek, and she exhales, recalling the Emperor’s heartbeat beneath her cheek as well. If she focuses her attention and tries to drown out the nearly deafening rain, she can hear him snoring softly in the next room over, the gentle shuffles of the sheets and thick blankets as he moves. 

“He’s survived worse,” Poe mumbles.

“You feared for him,” she observes. 

“Of course I did!” He sits up slightly, dislodging her from his chest. She sits up as he does, scooting back so that his back’s against the one arm of the couch. In the low light, he looks angry, brow furrowed. “I feared for you both! Do you have any idea what it was like, any inkling of how it looked coming around that corner and seeing both of you in a puddle of blood? I didn’t know if it was yours, if it was his, if it was neither. I saw you and red and Ren and felt as though time stopped.” 

“I was fine,” she insists. “And he was, too, though apparently eager to have me right then and there.” 

“But I didn’t know that,” he hisses. “I thought he was dead until I saw his arms around you.”

“I’m fine,” she protests. 

“But I didn’t know that!” 

It comes out as almost a shout, and they both still, their gazes turning towards the archway into the bedroom. Rey waits one heartbeat, two heartbeats, three heartbeats before she hears Ren’s soft snore, and then looks back towards Poe whose eyes are still on the archway. 

“I didn’t know that,” he mutters. “For a moment, I thought you were both dead. And then where would I be? The two people I love most, gone.”

Rey leans forward and kisses him, climbing into his lap so that he can hold her more tightly. He does, arms nearly vice-like around her, as though she’ll slip away if he lets go. She doesn’t mind, hands coming up to cup his face as she kisses him more deeply. 

White flashes behind her eyelids, a clap of thunder following soon after she opens her mouth to him. He tastes stale, of old wine, and she wonders how long it’s been since he’s had something to eat, something to drink. 

His hand is hot as it finds her upper back, sliding up into her hair. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” he mumbles against her lips once she pulls away slightly, breathing slightly heavier. “Not when I’ve only just known you.” 

“I’m not going anywhere, and neither is he,” she insists, pressing her forehead against his. “We’re fine, we’re alive, and it’s not going to happen again. The General won’t let it. You won't let it. I won't let it. It was a trick of fate, a knot in his thread, not the end of it.” 

He sighs against her mouth. “I was scared.” 

“I know.”

“I thought I’d lost you.” 

“I know. But I’m not going anywhere.” She smiles just a bit, moving to wrap her legs around his waist so she can settle more comfortably on his lap. “I’m here.”  
“Thank the gods you are,” he breathes before he takes her lips again, kiss harder and a bit more aggressive than before. 

She likes it, enjoys it when he kisses her like this. It’s not often, his touches usually soft and slow and sweet, but she won’t complain when he kisses her so hard her head spins and her blood roars in her ears. A thunderclap startles her into clenching her hands in his hair, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him even closer, her chest flush against his.

She tastes salt soon after, and realizes he’s crying. Rey pulls back almost immediately, feeling his chest jump as he tries to catch his breath. Her hands in his hair go from tightening to stroking in half a heartbeat, and then he’s burying his face in her neck and letting out near silent sobs that wrack his entire frame. 

Rey presses kisses to his stubbled jaw, his neck, his bare shoulder as he holds her so tightly she can barely breathe. She kisses his lips again, trying to swallow his sobs and sorrow for herself. She’d had that, before she’d climbed into bed with him and the Emperor. She’d had her sobbing fit, scrubbing the blood from her skin and unsure if it was his or not. 

“I’m here.” It’s barely intelligible, just a jumble of syllables against his mouth. “I’m here.” 

She lets him reach up and unpin the fabric at her shoulders, lets him pull her as close as he needs to. Her breasts are bare as soon as the fabric falls, and then he’s burying his face between her small breasts and soaking her skin. She kisses his temple, his cheek, what she can reach as he tries to stifle himself for the sake of the man in the next room over.

“Let me touch you.” It’s gasped against her right breast. “I need-“

“Always,” she mumbles against his forehead. “Do as you wish.” 

“How did I deserve you?” he asks, and she’s not entirely sure whether he’s talking to himself or the gods as he moves, holding her gently as he lays her down on the couch and moves above her. 

Her belt’s still holding her peplos on, but she makes quick work of it, untying it and tossing it somewhere. Lightning flashes, and she can see his face clearly, see how truly shaken he is by this whole ordeal, the attack and Ren’s injury and the memory of her and Ren entwined in the blood that was thankfully not theirs.  
She reaches up to wipe his tears from his cheeks with her thumbs. The smile he offers is a poor facsimile of his usual cocky smirk, something softer and sweeter and sadder as he looks down at her. 

“I can’t have you,” he murmurs. “You’re his, first.” 

“And yours close behind,” she tells him. “The only thing in the way is customs. If he were not the Emperor, and us three equals, I’d be just as yours as I would be his.” 

“I pray he’ll allow me to have you once he takes you,” he breathes. 

“You haven’t asked him?” 

“I’ll ask when he decides to take you,” he explains. “Not before.”

She traces the lingering bruises on his neck as the lightning flashes again, finding the yellowed marks and touching them lightly. “Will you mark me, as he does you? If he agrees?”

“Do you wish for me to?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then yes,” he breathes. “Gods, yes.” 

She pulls him back down for a searing kiss as thunder claps, silver flashing behind her lids. The storm’s closer, now. She can’t bring herself to care as she lets her peplos fall, pulling him flush against her so his bare chest is against his. The heat’s wonderful after the chill of the storm, and she wraps one arm around his shoulders to keep him close. 

His sobbing’s calmed somewhat, and she can feel his heartbeat, heavy in his chest and hard against hers. She wonders if he can feel hers, if he knows that she’s still there for another day, another month, another year, or for as long as he’ll have her. 

He’s braced over her, letting his mouth skirt down from hers to her jaw, kisses tender now. She closes her eyes as he moves his mouth down her neck, lips finding the jut of her collarbone and the hollow of it. He then leads with his nose and follows with his mouth, over the lines of her shoulders, stronger than they’d been when she’d arrived thanks to the training she’s had. 

“I thank them for you,” he breathes against the skin of her neck. “Every day.” 

He kisses her again before she can tell him that she does the same. So she pulls him closer instead, reveling in his body against hers, and thanking the gods that she’s here to hold him.

-

She’s lost track of the days since the attack. It’s easy to lose time, here. One day of training and walking in the orchards bleeds into another, and another, and another. 

She still refuses to use her sword. It sits up against the wall in their living area, ready for use but gathering dust in the meantime. 

His leg is healing. The wound hadn’t been as deep as they’d suspected. The cut on his forehead and the one along his shoulder from their blades have faded into pale pink marks she has watched Poe kiss over and over again.

The first time he returns from walking on his own, Poe’s been searching the palace for two hours. Rey waits in their chambers, watching for Ren when he comes in through the courtyard, hairline soaked with sweat and pale cheeks flushed, leaning almost entirely on his good leg. 

“What are you doing?!” she hisses, rushing to him and moving his arm over her shoulder to get him to one of the couches. He collapses onto it, the fabric of his tunic damp as he stretches his leg out to relieve the pain. 

“Walking,” he says simply.

The wound’s swollen, but not too badly. She calls for cool water and for someone to alert Poe that he’s fine, he’s here, he’s a fool but he’s all right. She dabs at Ren’s skin to cool and clean him, kissing him occasionally and knowing full well he’ll get no such treatment from his other consort. 

She was right. Poe rushes in like a sea storm, rambling in Latin and angrier than she’s ever seen him. She doesn’t pause in her tending to Ren, pressing the cool, damp cloth to the stitches in his thigh. 

Ren says nothing until he sighs something that sounds like an apology, and Rey watches as Poe huffs and surges forward, grabbing Ren’s face with both hands and tugging him up for a harsh kiss. The consort tips over the water basin in the process, and Rey snorts, shaking her head before crossing her arms over her chest and waiting for Poe to realize that he’s standing in a puddle. 

-

“You’ve been up there since the sun was at its highest.” 

“I’ve walked,” she replies, glancing down at Ren. “Through the trees.” She grins down at him.

“She has,” Finn offers.

The taller man hums, sounding amused. “Poe says otherwise.” 

“Poe hasn’t been watching me constantly, unless he has. And if so, then you can turn back and tell him to stop,” Rey says, climbing down until she’s low enough that Ren can take her by the waist and pull her down. She braces her hands on his shoulders as he brings her to the ground, her arms wrapping up and around his neck as she kisses him in greeting.

“Am I dismissed, sir?” Finn asks. 

“Yes,” Ren says, and Rey watches as Finn nods and makes his way back up the hill. The sun’s lower now, dipping below the horizon quickly. Perhaps she has been out here longer than she should’ve, but with training out of the way and Poe off somewhere with the rest of the soldiers, she’d returned to the orchards as always. 

She looks back to the man she’s clinging to. “You shouldn’t be walking this far,” she scolds. “What would the physician say?” 

“The physician would say that I’m spending too much time sitting and not enough time working the muscle,” he explains. “I needed to get out. I’ve been having meetings all day.” 

“Hm.” She smirks, running her hands up into his dark hair. “So you came to see me?” 

“Are you surprised?” he questions. “I like to see you. Is that a crime?” 

“No,” she replies simply. 

“Walk back with me?”

“Of course.” 

The air’s colder. She has a palla over her shoulders to shield her from the cooler air. She pulls it tighter around her as they walk back to the palace. The trees still bear fruit, apples redder now. Most of the summer fruits have been pulled to be dried and preserved, but she can still munch when she wants to. 

The sun’s setting turns the stone of the palace gold, and she smiles a bit at the place that’s since become her home. Jakku was small, dusty and dirty. Not a blade of grass upon it. Now, she can feel the strands between her toes, her sandals dangling from her fingers. 

“What did you do with your day?” 

“Fought with Finn,” she explains. “Briefly. I’ve been reluctant to hold that sword again.” 

“I can have a new one made,” he says. “If that’s what you’d like.” 

She shakes her head. “I’m … not as comfortable with a blade, after seeing the damage it causes.” 

She’s half expecting an apology but she knows she won’t get one. There’s no reason for him to apologize for killing the man who would’ve killed her. 

The stones of the palace are cool against her bare feet. He walks up the stairs with her, and she watches him to see if he still walks with a limp, still bites his lip as he walks. The lip bite is gone, but the limp remains somewhat. She wonders if he’ll ever get rid of it. 

They walk through one of the outer archways into the palace, and she notices they’re walking away from their quarters. She wonders where Poe is, where Ren is taking her. The setting sun shines through the pillars, casting long, golden stripes on the stone floor. With every step they’re either illuminated, or in shadow. 

When he’s in the sun, he looks warm for the first time. He never looks warm, skin pale and hair dark and eyes cool. She supposes it’s how he and Poe work so well together, in their differences. 

She wonders if she’ll fit between them, or if she’ll forever be confined to just one at a time. 

“I-“ she starts, but is cut off almost immediately.

“I’d like to thank you.”

Rey glances towards the man beside her, noticing the way he doesn’t meet her eyes as he walks. “What for?” she asks, frowning and trying to remember what she could've possibly done to result in him thanking her.

“For saving my life.” Now he does look at her. “I would like you to understand that it was unusual; of the seven years I’ve been with Poe, not once has he had to act as you had.” 

“I hope he won’t have to follow my example,” Rey mutters. 

“As do I,” Ren replies. “But one can never know what the Fates have in store.”

She nods. “Agreed.” She grins, shaking her head. If, back on Jakku, someone had told her that her thread led to the Emperor’s palace and his bed, she would’ve thought they had too much wine and checked their eyes for madness. “One can never know.” 

“I’m glad you’re with us.” 

“As am I.” It’s the truth. 

They step through one of the larger, more decorative archways, and she recognizes where they are immediately. The throne room. She can’t count the times she’s stood beside him as one of his consorts, bejeweled and dressed in thin silks imported from across the sea, her hair curled loosely thanks to the hot tongs that Poe has brought for special occasions. Now, it looks a bit sad. She’s never come here outside of those occasions, and now the huge room looks absurdly empty without his advisors and senators and people there to watch. 

The fires are low, and she can count two guards who slip away as soon as they see the Emperor and his female consort. She’s grateful for the small amount of privacy, stepping closer to him. 

“How is it?” she asks, nodding towards his thigh. His tunic’s low enough that it covers the wound, but in private she’s seen it plenty of times. She’s helped tend to it, even, in the early stages of his healing. 

“Better,” he replies. “It feels tight, but it’s better. I can hold weight on it.” 

“Good,” she says, unsure of what else to say. 

“I’ve asked the physician when I might resume normal activities. Training, wrestling, sparring, the like.” 

Of course he has. She knows how often he’d wrestled with the General before his injury. Thrice a week, often more if there were no deep injuries, which there often weren’t. It must be maddening for him to not be as active. 

“He said?” she asks. 

"As soon as I'd like, while also understanding my limits until I'm healed." He sounds happy. She’s happy as well, and offers him a soft smile at how far he’s come.  
Rey looks towards the throne. It’s strange to see it so bare, without someone sitting in it and without all the decorations. “I’m glad,” she says, glancing back towards him as they walk towards it. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was tired and wanted to sit; he’d walked a ways to fetch her, it must be taking a toll on his leg no matter how well it’s healed. Limits, he’d said. She wonders if he’d breached them.

She bites her lip, watching as he walks up the two steps to the platform with the throne, tracing the marble with his hand. She follows him, expecting him to sit. He doesn’t, choosing to stand beside her instead of taking his place of power. 

“And … as far as other activities?” she asks, looking up towards him and stepping a bit closer.

Poe’s told her about it, about how he’s refused to let the Emperor lie with him while he’s been in recovery. It’s been interesting for her, to say the least. She’s felt the weight of Poe’s cock in her hand several times over the past month, felt his body above hers and her mouth against his. She likes to think she’s learned quickly, learned that Poe likes slow and building rather than fast and easy. She wonders how Ren likes it. Poe’s refused to tell her, smirk saying she’s to figure out for herself. 

"Others-?” He blinks owlishly at her before he realizes. She can see the moment everything falls into place, and then he’s not quite smirking but not quite smiling either. “You mean intimacy?"

"… yes,” she admits. “Poe’s been needy.” It’s said quickly; she feels as though she needs an explanation, though she knows she doesn’t actually. 

“Poe? Needy? A surprise,” Ren says around a snort of laughter. 

She grins. Poe is incredibly needy, and affectionate. She supposes it’s part of the reason he introduced her to touch so early in their relationship; he enjoys it, and there’s hardly a time when they sit apart, now. More often than not she can be found in his lap, or else his head’s resting in hers. “Quite a surprise,” she teases. 

“As soon as I’d like.” 

“Hm?” she asks. 

“I can be intimate with whom I chose whenever I’d like, knowing my limits, of course,” he replies. 

The sun’s fallen. The small fires lit in between each pillar don’t do much to illuminate the room, and so she’s left staring up at him, trying to search his face in the low light and failing absolutely miserably.

“Is that so?” she asks.

“Yes.” 

She’s brought right back to their first kiss; his mouth is hard on hers, and she can’t help but grin against his lips as she loops her arms around his neck to pull him closer. The grin falls a moment later in favor of kissing him more deeply. 

She reaches one hand into his hair, the other dropping her sandals with a loud ‘slap’ before raking down his broad back, nails catching on the wool of his tunic. She can feel his hands at her waist and cupping the back of her neck, tilting her head back and bending her. She moves the hand on his back to reach for the throne, hand grasping at the arm for stability as he bows her into him. 

“Here?” she breathes, once his lips move to her jaw. 

“If you wish,” he mumbles, voice low and rumbling. 

“Yes.”

His hand slips to her side, trying to find where the two panels of fabric part. “Sit, then.” 

“Is it allowed?” Rey asks, and he moves his hand along the side of her peplos until he finds where the fabric parts. His hand’s cold as it meets her hip, sliding up to her bare waist and then around to the small of her back. 

“No one will see. If they do, I don’t give a care,” he mutters. “Sit.” 

She obeys. The marble’s cold even beneath the fabric of her peplos, and her blood roars with both arousal and the idea that she’s sitting on his throne. She can see around him, can see the entire room from this point, and her breath hitches in her throat. This is blasphemous, of that she’s sure, but she can’t bring herself to care when he bends and captures her lips again. He kneels and she follows, bending down to follow his lips as he gives his thigh some relief, his weight on his knees instead. 

His mouth finds her shoulder, lips moving to where it meets her neck. “What do you want?” 

“Mouth,” she breathes. “I want your mouth.”

“Where?” 

“Wherever you wish to put it.” It’s a dangerous game, she knows. She’s opening herself to him, giving him the option of touching her intimately in this sacred place, in view of any servant or guard who passes through. But the image sends a spark like lightning up her spine, and she hopes he’ll go further than just his mouth on her shoulder. 

His lips move to her ear. “I can think of plenty of places.” He pulls back, moving his hands down to her feet. He takes her ankles and lifts one, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to the bump of bone. “Remove your belt.” 

She does, reaching up and pulling the leather belt from her waist. “If someone sees?” 

“They won’t,” he mutters against the back of her left calve. “They know to leave us.” 

Poe. He’s done this with Poe. She bites her lip at the flare of heat between her legs at the thought, her mind creating images of Ren sitting where she is, his legs spread and cock hard and between Poe’s lips. Or maybe their positions are reversed, the male consort sitting on the throne, bare and open. She feels wet just at the thought, wonders if she could ever plan to stumble upon them. 

Without the belt to hold the sides in place, the side of her tunic falls open, and she shifts to reveal her side. She smirks a bit as his gaze follows the line of her leg up to her bare thigh, the curve of her hip, her bare ribs. She shifts more, almost pulling her leg from his grip in an effort to get the fabric to part more. Her left breast is revealed soon enough, and she reaches up to undo the pins holding the fabric on her shoulders. 

“Is this how you want it?” she asks, taking one of the gold pins and setting it on the side of the throne, the metal clinking against the stone before she sets its partner beside it. She holds the fabric up, barely covering her chest as she raises an eyebrow down at him. “Do you wish to take me on your throne, is that it?”  
“If you’d like,” he says, voice low and nearly gruff. “But I’d rather put my mouth on you.”

She grins, spreading her legs for him. “Then do so.” 

A man of the Empire, the leader of it besides, she hadn’t expected him to follow orders so well. But his mouth is hot compared to his cool hands as he presses openmouthed kisses along her inner thighs. Her legs fall more open for him, and her breath hitches as he takes her left leg and lifts it over his shoulder. 

Her right hand moves to his hair, clenching in the dark waves as the left moves to grab at the side of the throne, marble cold and unforgiving against her fingertips. The fabric she’d been holding to her chest falls, and she knows full well that if anyone were to step in the room she’d be absolutely mortified. But his hot breath is fanning over her lips, and she wants to force his head between her thighs like she’s done with Poe on occasion. But he’s not Poe, no, she won’t do it.

“You’re wet,” he mutters, just brushing his lips against her. It’s enough to earn a frustrated whine from her, the lack of pressure. “Why is that?” 

“You’ve done this with Poe,” she says quickly. “Had him on your throne, his cock in your mouth.” 

“Yes,” he replies simply. “And mine in his.” 

More fuel to the fire. She squirms against the cold stone, nipples pebbling in the cool early autumn air. “Ren-“ 

His mouth returns to her inner thighs, kissing her skin over and over again. His mouth skirts over her cunt occasionally, gentle open-mouthed kisses and soft licks that fan the flames but don’t give her any sort of release at all. She clenches the hand on the side of the throne in slight frustration, and bites her lower lip, needing more. His mouth’s hot, but not nearly hard enough. 

He’s taking her slow, taking his time to savor her, but she wants to ride his mouth. 

She rolls her hips, seeing if it’ll give him a hint, but he just presses the slightest kiss to her clit, teasing before his tongue follows. It’s the softest, shortest lick she’s felt, even with Poe. 

Poe. She blinks down at Ren, her hand tightening in his hair. That’s why he’s slow. Because Poe likes slow. Poe likes it to build and build, Poe likes slow strokes and light touches. He’s treating her like he treats Poe. 

She tightens her hand in his hair again, pulling just enough to get his attention. He lifts his face up from her cunt, eyes finding hers in the dark. She can barely see him in the low light, his eyes black.

“Please.” 

It’s not a request. She won’t beg for him, won’t plead for him to be harder with her, to be rougher. She knows full well this is how he treats Poe if he wants to be sweet, wants to be loving; in no way is this the man who leave such dark marks on her other lover’s shoulders, back, and ass. In no way is this the man who leaves bruises on Poe’s neck, he’s too gentle for that.

He seems to hesitate, and she wants to close her legs. But with one held by his hand and the other over his shoulder, she can’t, so she has to stay subject to his scrutiny as he stares up at her bare form. 

Perhaps this is how he’ll treat her. Slow and soft and sweet, like Poe’d promised. Now that he’s doing it, though, it’s not what she wants. She tries to buck her hips a bit, tries to get his mouth back on her. She can see her slick on him in the light of the basins by the throne, covering his mouth but not his chin or his nose like she’d like it to. 

“Please,” she repeats, in the same tone. 

His tongue’s hot against her cunt, broad strokes that flick against her clit and have her jerking against the hard stone. She clenches her hand in his hair harder, almost afraid she’s tearing strands out as he moves his nose between her folds, following directly with his tongue. 

When she moans, it echoes, and she nearly freezes before he sucks at her clit and she bucks her hips against his mouth. She’s being loud, too loud, but she doesn’t dare tell him to stop as he slips his tongue just inside, moaning against her. His sound echoes somewhat as well, and makes her smile a bit as he seems to be enjoying himself as well. 

He goes at her perhaps a bit too hard. Poe’s learned, Poe knows how she likes it. Ren doesn’t. But his lips sucking hard on her folds make her keen and move her hand down to his shoulder, nails scraping against his pale skin. 

She hopes she leaves marks on him like he does Poe. 

She hopes he eventually leaves those marks on her, as well.

Her other hand moves from the cold stone of the throne side to her breast, her skin hot from the sun and sex. Her hips rock to meet his mouth as she digs her nails in, gripping perhaps a bit too tight. But it feels damn good, and though she knows she’ll have deep half-moons in the tender skin she can’t regret it. 

She cums from his mouth alone, the flat of his tongue against her clit. Poe must’ve told him that she likes pressure, likes it hard against the nub, because he’s lavishing it in attention and is so hard with it she knows it’ll be swollen for hours afterwards. She doesn’t care, not when it’s making her toes curl and her legs shake and her ass slip forward on the marble throne. She slides a bit, falling until he reaches up to keep her from slipping off entirely. His mouth leaves her, but she’s already come down from her peak, just riding the wave and jerking her hips, trying to find friction against the cool air. 

He’s standing in a second, moving and slipping one thigh between her spread ones and bracing his hands against the back of the throne, caging her in. He kisses her again, hard and possessive, and she pulls him closer, needing warmth after reclining against the cold marble. 

His mouth leaves hers and moves to her jaw, nipping softly before going down to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. It’s there that he bites and sucks, and she arches, pressing against him. 

So this is how the marks are made. The deep red and purple marks that Poe bears, the bruises he wears proudly. There’s pain, but also heat and openmouthed kisses pressed to the skin once he’s finished his work. 

“Mine,” he mumbles against the mark. 

“I have been for a while,” she tells him. 

“And I yours.” 

“And Poe’s,” she quips, grinning. 

His chuckle’s deep. “And Poe’s, yes. I belong to both of you, as he belongs to both of us.” 

“And I to both of you?” she asks. 

“Yes.” 

The sound of metal clanking has her yanking back from him, eyes searching the darkness for the source of the sound. He pulls her closer, hiding her from view of whoever’s there. 

“Sir.” 

Finn. Rey breathes a soft sigh of relief, collapsing back against the throne as the Emperor straightens a bit. She takes the fabric of her peplos and pulls it up to cover her chest, watching as Finn emerges from the shadows with his head bowed. 

“What?” Ren asks, and she smirks a bit at how angry he sounds. Though to be honest, she’s a bit annoyed too, looking towards the soldier standing in the firelight. 

“Poe asks that you join him as soon as possible in your chambers.” She watches as Finn raises his eyes, taking in her sitting in the throne and the Emperor braced above her. “… I can tell him you’re busy with her, sir, if you’d like. But he’s been persistent.” 

“Tell him we’ll join him soon,” the Emperor orders, and she’s given yet another taste of his power, of his position above her in rank. His voice echoes through the hall, and she reaches up to run her hand down his back, feeling the muscles beneath her touch. She moves her hand back up and cups his jaw, stroking his cheek with her thumb as his gaze remains on Finn. 

“Yes, sir,” Finn replies, and she catches a flicker of a smile before he’s gone down the hallway that leads to the main corridor. 

Silence follows his exit until she laughs, shaking her head and pulling the Emperor down for a chaste kiss. 

“I’m sorry,” he says as she pulls away. 

“Don’t be,” she replies, grinning. “As I said, Poe’s been needy. No doubt someone caught sight of us and alerted him that you’re able to go again.” 

He bends and picks up the fabric of her tunic, wrapping it around her. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting, especially if he knows we’re here.” 

She won’t argue with that. Her legs are still a bit shaky, so she’s grateful for the help in covering her again. She doesn’t bother to refasten it, instead preferring to wrap it around her body and hold it closed with her fingers.

He grabs the pins from the arm of the throne and presses them into her hands, kissing her gently. “I didn’t ask if I could mark you.” 

“The answer would’ve been ‘yes’, anyway,” she replies, grinning as he helps her up from the throne. She holds her tunic to her loosely, letting him help her down since the fabric is lower and the stairs smooth and slightly slick. He bends and picks her sandals up, carrying them for her as they walk out of the throne room.  
His free hand’s warm against her lower back, and she leans into him, still grinning.


	9. IX.

“Is this necessary?” 

“Yes.” 

She feels the slight tug of another strand of hair as Poe wraps it around the tongs heated by the fire, the heat of the metal going so far as to warm her shoulders as she sits on the edge of the tub.

She feels as though she’s been sitting here for hours, with Poe tugging on the dark waves that seemingly aren’t wavy enough. She bites at her lip, tasting the lingering bitterness of whatever fruit had been crushed to make the paste that turned her lips a shade of pink. Her brows have been darkened, powder pressed against her skin to cover the freckles that she's been blessed with from the orchards. This is a public event, Poe had said, with many senators and other people of authority. She needs to look the part of a proper consort. 

She's starting to think she doesn't much like the way a proper consort looks.

The tug against her scalp loosens, and she leans back slightly, looking over her shoulder at the man who’s meticulously curling her hair before the festivities. 

It’s the Emperor’s first public appearance since the attack. The scar is still pink, his walk still slightly limped, but he’ll be appearing before the people as confirmation that he’s well. She’s expected to appear beside him with Poe on his other side, and as his consort she’s allowed to join in the festivities. She has the feeling she'll be joining the soldier's party, a more casual thing where she can wipe off the powders and drink more wine and dance more loosely.

"Hold still," Poe orders quietly. "I'd rather not burn your peplos."

"I'd rather you not burn me," Rey jokes back, looking down at her costume for the festivities. The peplos she’s wearing is a thin thing, made of cream-colored silk and providing little protection from the cooler autumn air. Poe’s tunic’s not much better, both of their clothes hemmed in gold. The necklaces she’s wearing are heavy around her neck, pearls and turquoise the color of the sea she grew up in the middle of set in the gold. A diadem is waiting beside Poe to be set amongst the curls, and she waits impatiently for him to be done. 

“It will fall out in a few moments,” she protests, knowing her hair will fall to its loose waves soon enough. “It’s not worth the trouble.” 

“Would you just believe I like to spend time on you?” Poe sighs, and she hears the clank of the tongs as they’re set down along the marble. “There, finished. Turn to me.” 

She does so, turning to look at the man and tucking her legs to the side. She watches as Poe bends, picking up the gold diadem set with pearls and setting it on her head. 

“There. Beautiful,” he mutters, pulling back. 

She doesn’t quite feel it. Her nerves are itching under her oil-slicked skin, and she watches him as he stands and sets the tongs in a basin of cool water. “Have you spoken to him?” 

“Not since this morning,” Poe replies, coming back to help her up. She takes his hand and lets him pull her to her feet. “He’s been busy with the preparations.” 

The preparations. Right. She takes a deep breath, and smiles a bit as Poe’s arms wrap around her waist to pull her closer. She loops her arms around his neck, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against his. The kiss he gives her is chaste, just the slightest brush of his lips against hers. She has the feeling it has something to do with the paint and stains on her lips, not wanting to mess them up or have them transfer to his own, but she's slightly disappointed at the lack of passion. Still, his hand coming up to cup her cheek makes up for it in tenderness, and she sighs as she breathes in the perfume that they're both wearing, his deeper and sharper than her floral blend.

“You are beautiful,” he mumbles against her mouth. 

“Thank you.” It’s quiet, and she feels his arms tighten around her. 

He kisses her cheek. “I’m going to go speak with Finn. He’s one of the guards who’ll be standing next to the throne. Do you need anything else?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No, I’m fine.” 

“Did you eat?” he demands, and she grins, pecking his lips before pulling back. 

“Not yet, but I will,” Rey replies. “There’s fruit.” 

“If you go looking for apples like this, I swear, Rey-“ Poe starts, but she cuts him off with another kiss, this one a bit deeper, a bit longer - if she needs to reapply the paint to her lips and scrub it from his, so be it. She's not letting a bit of cosmetics ruin her kiss with this wonderful man. She moves her hand into his hair, dark strands curling around her fingers as she smiles against his mouth. 

“I’m not, I promise,” she whispers, and he hums. 

“If you get dirt and bark on this one, you’re standing before the city like that,” he mutters, pulling back and leaving her feeling a bit cold as he turns. “I’ll be back before we have to leave.” 

“I love you.” 

It comes out so easily, she’s honestly shocked she’s never said it before. She watches as he freezes, half a step up to the door. She watches as he turns to her, seemingly in awe, before his face splits into one of the brightest grins she’s seen him wear.

“I love you, too,” he replies. “I’ll be back soon.” 

She nods, and then he’s gone, slipping through the doorway. She grins, walking to look out towards the courtyard, standing in the doorway to the gardens. 

The sound of a pot breaking behind her has her whirling, hand already reaching towards her javelin leaning against the wall. Rey stares at Ren, who’s standing in his fine toga and gold leaf crown, looking down at a large ceramic urn that he must’ve tipped over. The curtains in the archway to the bedroom are parted – he must’ve come in through there. Oil’s spilling across the floor, but he looks more surprised than upset at the loss, looking up from the mess to stare at her in open awe. 

Her heart already warm from Poe’s words and smile in response to her confession, she feels her cheeks warm as well as Ren mutters, “By the gods…”, eyes still focused on her. 

She was never one for vanity. Her clothes were always simple, hair pulled back most of the time to allow for work in the temple. Cosmetics didn’t appeal to her, and Jakku’s bathouses didn’t allow for pampering like the baths here do. She looks down at herself, making a small gesture with open arms and a slight smile. “Poe helped.” 

“Did he?” Ren asks, still staring at her as he steps over the mess that he’d made and walks to her. His steps are slow, but she knows that it’s the heavy bulk of the toga and not his thigh. She’s seen him wrestling again, seen him sparring with his General. He’s been with Poe, too, she knows that for a fact. 

His hand is cool on the small of her back. Poe had draped the fabric so that almost the entirety of her bare back is showing, and she hums as she feels his fingers on her skin. He moves into the doorway as well, the two of them standing in the small space. She bows into him willingly, eyes slipping closed as he bends to press his lips to her neck, her skin covered in perfumed oil. 

“How’s your leg?” she asks, humming as he presses kisses up to her jaw, lingering on her cheek. "I hope you've been listening to the physicians and resting it every so often."

“Sore,” he admits. “I overworked it yesterday.” 

“Of course you did," she sighs, exasperated before she reaches up to tuck a dark strand of hair behind his ear. "Are you up for this?” she questions, frowning. “You’d be a fool to make it worse.” 

“I’m fine,” he insists, and though she’s not entirely sure he is, she’s not going to push it. She just loops her arm around his neck, fingers curling into his hair as she closes her eyes and just revels in the closeness of him. 

It’s autumn, now. She’d lost her hatred for him in the heat of the summer, and now she’s fairly certain that this could be called love. She smiles a bit as he kisses the shell of her ear, breath hot and mouth sweet. She holds him closer, humming softly. 

“Rey.” 

"Mm?"

“You look beautiful.”

She stops for a moment, smile broadening as she pulls back just enough to meet his eyes. “Am I?" she asks, raising both brows at him as his hand settles once more against the small of her back. “Tell me how beautiful.”

“As beautiful as the sunrise on the sea,” Ren tells her, his fingers rubbing circles into her skin. 

“I haven’t seen one in ages,” Rey admits with a quiet laugh. “Not since Jakku.”

“That’s because you and Poe like to sleep until noon and stay up until the birds start to sing.” 

“That’s not true, I have only once heard the birds-“ she protests, not seeing his smile.

He cuts her off with a kiss. She'll never get over how soft his lips are, how different he is from Poe. Poe she can feel the scratch of his stubble, the heat of his skin. Now, she feels Ren's hair beneath her fingers and the fine fabric of his toga as she moves her hand up to his chest to steady herself. His other hand moves to cup the back of her neck, and she can taste the strong, celebratory wine on his tongue, festivities already started.

"We can watch the sunrise tomorrow, if you’re amenable to getting up that early,” he promises. “For now, let me enjoy looking at you before I drink so much my vision swims.”

“You won’t be drinking that much,” she teases, smirking. “I won’t let you.” Rey yanks him down for an even hotter kiss, teeth nipping at his lower lip as he grabs at her, pulling her flush against him. Poe will roll his eyes when he sees the scratches on her bare back where Ren scrambles to pull her closer, but she doesn't care as she feels the heat of his mouth against hers and his hands on her. 

“We should go,” she breathes against his mouth. “Poe will have our heads if we don’t leave this room…”

"Of course," he mutters, and she feels a flush of affection at the color in his cheeks, his gaze roaming up and down her form as he steps back. "You look like a daughter of Aphrodite herself."

She grins, before it falls into a frown. "Wait, aren't you supposed to be in the hall, now?"

"Yes, he is."

Poe's voice comes from the doorway, and she turns to see him smirking, arms crossed over his chest. "He was supposed to be there a while ago."

"Forgive me," Ren says, smirk mirroring his male consort's. "I wanted to see her."

"You'll be seeing plenty of her, tonight and tomorrow and every day after. Go to where you're supposed to, fool," Poe scolds teasingly as he walks forward. Rey's let go in favor of the Emperor bending to kiss his other consort, and she grins as Poe makes to push him away but eventually melts, wrapping his arms around Ren's waist.

"You need to go," Poe insists, pulling back just so his words can be heard.

"I know."

"I mean now, Kylo."

The Emperor huffs, and Poe snorts. "Yes, I know, you'd rather stay here and kiss us but people are waiting. Go before I kick you."

Rey watches as the Emperor pulls back, and smiles as he looks towards her. She receives a kiss to the top of her head before he's turning and leaving, movements slow in his toga. Poe waits until he's gone before reaching towards her, and she goes willingly, letting him kiss her cheek. "You missed it.”

"Missed what?” Rey replies, frowning as she leans into his arms. 

“His little dirty joke,” Poe explains, his smirk absolutely filthy.

"What did he say?” the brunette demands, turning to look at Poe.

"Oh, no, I’m not telling you, you’ll have to think on it,” Poe replies cheekily, smile threatening to split his cheeks. "If you didn’t catch it, you’re too innocent to know it.”

"If you don’t tell me right now, I’m going to withhold kisses from you for the rest of the night," she teases.

His smile becomes more mischievous, and he holds her closer. “You say that as if I don’t have another endless supply of kisses from our dear Emperor.”

“He told me I looked like a daughter of Aphrodite herself,” Rey insists, smirking. “Perhaps I will seduce him and convince him to deprive you as well.”

“There’s Finn, too-“

“Oh, hush,” Rey snaps, slapping at his bare arm as he starts to chuckle. “Do they pay for your time and kisses, the soldiers? Is it a gold, or two silver? You can't be pricing yourself too low, love, I won't have it.” 

His laughter rings through the marble of their rooms, and she grins before she pulls him down for a soft kiss. 

-

Festivities on Jakku were not pleasant. She always found there was an abundance of wine and a lack of self control, and stuck to her temple steps watching as the fire blazed and the people danced, wine certainly stronger than anything had on a daily basis. 

The music was little more than the beating of drums, the occasional out-of-tune and off-key song from someone who could blow into a reed or pluck a string or two. Here, in the palace, the songs are much, much prettier. She smiles as she moves through the crowds of people like water through fingers. 

The only other women present are the singers and musicians, but she feels at home among the soldiers, the men who have vowed to give their life for hers and the men who have become her friends. There’s raucous laughter to the left, and she turns to see Finn grinning, cheeks darker than usual as another man slaps at his shoulder and laughs loud enough to make her ears hurt. 

Rey catches her trainer’s gaze, and smiles at him when he nods at her in greeting. She nods back, too many people between them to go to him quite yet, and moves on towards where she last saw Poe, speaking to a few other soldiers. He looks radiant in the firelight, a true son of Apollo, his skin golden and smile brighter than the sun, warming her at the sight of it. She picks up the length of her skirt to avoid tripping, and smiles as she makes her away around the long way, intending on surprising her lover.

“So she falls asleep at the base of the tree, worries me half to death, and I find her curled up like a fox in the hollow of it almost when the moon is highest,” he’s saying as she focuses on the curve of his back and the curl of his hair, and she smirks, coming up behind him to tap him on the shoulder. He turns and blinks at her as she leans into him, her arms wrapping around his waist as she goes on her tiptoes to lean her chin on his shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see him grinning, and she smiles back. 

“Are you speaking of me?” she asks, knowing full well he was and knowing exactly what he’s speaking of. She’d fallen asleep in the orchard a few days ago, pallas wrapped around herself and Finn off doing training with the rest of the guards. Poe had found her later that night, shivering. She doesn’t remember much aside from the warmth of his arms and her head on his shoulder as he carried her back, muttering to himself. 

“I was,” her lover replies, laughter in his voice, and she mocks a pout as she tightens her grip on his waist. 

“Hm,” she hums in feigned annoyance, and she turns her head to look at him properly. In the low light of the fire around them, he looks more handsome than usual. It makes her grin back at him. Inappropriate though it may be, she can’t resist slipping around to face him, can’t resist stealing a kiss. His hand’s warm on her bare lower back, and he touches her waist with the other lightly as she slips her hand up to cup the back of his neck. She leans up to press her lips to his, eyes slipping closed as she just enjoys the warmth of him. She can hear the drums, the lyre, the laughter of the soldiers, and the soft whistling of those surrounding them. But she focuses on his mouth beneath hers, his hand at her back and her waist, and the soft curls tickling her fingers as she holds him close. 

Ignoring the good-natured teasing of the soldiers around them, she smiles a bit and pulls back, fingers trailing along the stubble of his jaw. She wonders, not for the first time, if she’ll ever feel the scratch of Ren’s stubble against her fingertips. “Have you seen him?” she asks, of their tall lover. She’d opted for the more casual festivities, appearing with Poe briefly at the party with senators and politicians and educators before slinking off by his side to the soldiers’ party. 

“Not for an hour or so,” Poe replies, shaking his head. “Are you to find him?” 

“I think so.” She feels good. The wine is strong, her head light and heart warm. And she wants him, desperately. She looks around the hall, hand moving from Poe’s cheek down to his forearm to give it a soft squeeze. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

He bends to brush his lips against hers briefly, hands slipping from her. “Tell him I love him? Before my words become even more slurred than they already are?” he asks teasing.

She nods with a smirk, and slips from him, offering a brief nod to the soldiers in his company before going to search for the Emperor. 

She wanders away from the soldiers’ party, heading towards the senate’s more formal gathering, when she catches a glimpse of movement off to her right. The light is lower here, the corridors not quite as bright as the grand halls, but she can see him standing on one of the porches in the cool night air. The moon’s just barely hidden behind the clouds, casting him in silver just as his lover had been cast in gold. She smirks, walking towards him and holding the skirt of her peplos in her hands. 

“Not enjoying the party?” she asks, standing next to her Emperor. His skin’s cool where her upper arm brushes his, and she glances towards him. He’s looking out towards the gardens, eyes on the moonlight-soaked leaves of the bushes that had once bloomed but are now bare of blossoms thanks to the colder weather. 

“After a certain amount of wine, lips loosen and judgment lapses,” Ren replies, his voice low. “While it is entertaining to observe, I hate to see my men so …” 

“Foolish,” Rey finishes. 

“Foolish,” Ren repeats, and his gaze shifts to her. “Were you looking for me?” 

“I was.” She steps closer to him, now entirely in his space. She slides around to stand before him, and smiles as his hand immediately comes up to cup her cheek. She wonders if she’ll ever stop comparing his touch to Poe’s, the roughness of his fingers to the softness of his other lover’s. She’s not sure she wants to stop; it would be incredibly boring if they were one and the same, and she loves that his callouses catch on her skin whereas Poe’s fingers glide over her jaw. “Are you expected to return?” 

“Yes,” he says simply. “But I won’t.”

She snorts, closing her eyes and shaking her head slightly as his hand finds her lower back. “Shirking your duties as the Emperor?” 

“My duty to you is more important to me at this moment,” Ren replies, and she steps into the circle of his arms. His toga’s heavy beneath her touch, a bit rough but thick to keep him shielded from the cold. She wishes for a garment like his, something heavier than her thin silk. “Will you walk with me?” 

“Of course,” Rey says, smirking as he pulls her closer instead of moving so that they may walk. “I do believe you have to let me go first, though.”

“I beg to differ,” he replies, throwing a smirk back at her before she’s suddenly lifted into his arms. Rey gasps, her laughter that follows echoing along the marble before he steps through the columns and her giggles ring out into the night. 

The moon illuminates the gardens around them, the shining olive tree leaves reflecting the glow beautifully as he carries her along the stone path. He holds her as if she weighs nothing, and she’s glad for the warmth he gives. “Are you taking me to the orchards?” she asks teasingly, looking up at the Emperor and smiling brightly.

“Where else?” he asks, and she observes the way his pale skin glows in the silver light of the moon. His smile is slight, but it’s there, and she hums as she rests her head against his arm, closing her eyes and listening to his footsteps in the grass. Eventually he has to set her down, the moonlight not quite bright enough to illuminate the ground the way it needs to be lit in order to avoid tripping over roots. But she doesn’t mind, so long as she can stay close to him. 

“Our first civil discussion happened beneath these leaves,” Rey teases as she runs her fingers along the bark of one of the apple trees, still bearing some fruit but the glossy trees too high for her, or even her Emperor to reach. 

“As did our first kiss,” Ren replies, and Rey smiles at the memory of being pushed against a tree, the bark against her back and her hand in his hair. 

“I remember it fondly,” she promises, and even in the faint moonlight, she swears she can see the tips of his ears turn pink. 

From one of the parties, most likely the one with the soldiers, there comes a hoot, and a holler, someone obviously having had a bit too much to drink. Rey turns to see the glow of the main halls, her heart warm with good wine and her head light with happiness. 

“Do you miss your island?” 

The question’s a soft thing, his voice barely above a whisper. She’s grateful that the night is so quiet, because she wonders if she would have heard it at all if the breeze were stronger, his words carried away on the wind. She looks over to Ren, and sees that his eyes are intensely on hers, as though from his gaze alone he could know her thoughts and feelings. 

“Yes,” she admits, her hands coming to rest in front of her as she starts to walk, fingers twining and twisting, fidgeting as she thinks of her island. “I miss the temple. I miss waking up and walking out to the sight of the blue sea all around me.” 

“Do you wish to return there? To visit? I will happily accompany you, if you wish to go.” 

The question surprises her, her head snapping around so that she may look at him properly. He’d asked her before if she wished to return there, yes, but with the understanding that she would be returning there to stay. The idea of visiting, of showing him the stalls in the market she stole from, of pointing out the rocks she sat upon to watch the waves…

“No,” she whispers, the word coming from her lips and surprising her. “There is nothing for me there. And I have everything I need and could ever want here. I don’t need to see what’s left of that place. You know this is home, now.”

“And what do you need that is here?” he asks, and she can hear the genuine curiosity in his voice as his hand finds her lower back. His hand is warm, large and spreading across her back, his smallest finger just barely brushing the top of her ass. She glances up at him, and notices his gaze is out towards the black of the sea in the distance.

“You,” she replies honestly, smiling up at him. “And Poe. And Finn.” 

“And apple trees?” Ren questions, raising a dark brow in mirth as he turns and smirks at her. 

“I could live without apples. I have lived without them for most of my life, and I could do so again,” Rey protests, frowning at him in annoyance that he would take her confession so lightly. “You, however, and Poe, I cannot go without.” 

“And what is it about us that you need?” the Emperor questions, and she wonders if he’s had too much wine, his tone much more playful than it usually is. 

“Your kisses,” she says simply. 

“Our kisses-“ he says, his brow rising even higher.

“I’m not finished, let me finish,” Rey snaps, feeling his heartbeat against her palm as her other hand slides up to cup the back of his neck, the soft ends of his hair tickling her fingers. “Your kisses. The way Poe holds me in his lap, his fingers trailing up and down my arms, the way his chin rests on my shoulder. The way your hand makes mine look like a child’s when you hold it. I need your lips upon my skin, and I need Poe’s skin against mine. I need to feel his curls between my fingers, and your heartbeat against my palm.”

She looks down at her hand on his chest, feeling the steady pulse of his life. Still beating, his soul still here. “I thank the gods every day that you were not taken from me.” 

“And I thank the gods that you were brought to me,” he insists. 

“I wasn’t brought to you, you took me, you fool,” Rey protests, looking up into his dark eyes as she frowns, pretending to be annoyed again. “Rather harshly, I remember.” 

“And you tried to get away from me as soon as we reached land,” Ren replies. 

“And I nearly managed it,” she teases, her frown disappearing as she grins and presses closer, his hand slipping down to cup her ass as he grins back at her. The warmth of his hand has her sighing, closing her eyes as she leans against him, her head upon his shoulder as he tucks her close. 

“… If I make love to you, I want you to promise me you will not leave me, swear off men entirely, and spend your life frolicking in the woods.” 

His voice is deep, a bit gruff, and she thinks she detects a suggestion of attempted humor, but as she looks up at the Emperor, she can tell he’s avoiding her gaze, his own steadily focused on some point in the distance. “You can’t be that terrible,” she mumbles, frowning up at him. 

There’s a snort from her lover, and he turns his face to look down at her. “I daresay I am.” 

Rey’s frown deepens as she looks up, her hand curling against his neck, soft waves tickling her fingertips. “… that didn’t actually happen, did it?” she demands. 

“Her name was Kira,” is all he says, his gaze shifting back to the sea. 

Kira. Kira, who was apparently so unsatisfied with him that she swore off men entirely. Perplexed, Rey reaches for his hand, squeezing his thick fingers gently. “You loved her?” 

“With all of my being. I assumed we would wed,” he mumbles. 

“Then I am sorry for your loss,” Rey offers, not sure what to say. 

“I gained Poe, and you. It has not been a loss,” Ren mutters, his tone harsh, no doubt from the memories surfacing. 

“Is that why you have not lain with me?” she demands, her brow furrowing as she slips from his side to stand in front of him. She reaches up when he looks away, taking his chin in her hand and guiding him to look at her. The moonlight, while beautiful, isn’t as bright as she wishes for it to be. She wants to know his eyes, wants to see if there is as much pain in them as she fears. “You believe I will be gone the next morn, so unsatisfied that I swear off men forever and you will never see me again? Are you a fool?” 

“It’s a possibility,” he admits, and she stares at him, unsure of what he’s responding to. Whether her leaving is a possibility, or whether him being a fool is. 

“Kylo…” she breathes. This man. This damn man and the damn woman who left him so suddenly without explanation. She half hopes that she got eaten by a wild boar while frolicking in the woods. “She did not deserve your love.” 

“I was young and foolish and looking for a bride. She was beautiful, and vain, and selfish, but I didn’t realize until years later.” He’s staring out to sea again, his shoulders tense even as she massages the nape of his neck. “I wish I had never met her.”

“Don’t say that,” Rey scolds quietly. “Souls enter our lives for a reason. Perhaps hers was so that you could find Poe.” It's not an unreasonable claim. No doubt he sought a partner of a different sort after his first lover ran into the trees, and she wonders if that partner was Poe. It would make sense, they've been together longer than she's been bleeding.

He scoffs, avoiding his gaze, and she frowns as she takes his face in her hands and guides his eyes back towards hers. 

“Hey,” she whispers, thumb stroking across the pale skin of his cheek. She lets herself smirk a little, the corner of her frown quirking up as she holds him close. “I’ve never had a man before. There isn’t much you have to do to impress me.”

“I haven’t had a woman in a very long time,” he admits with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I worry I may be even worse than I was.” 

“She was one woman, Kylo. And by the sounds of it, a cruel and selfish one, if she up and left you instead of teaching you how to love her properly,” Rey snaps, her voice slightly harsh as she narrows her eyes at him. “I will wait as long as you wish for me to, but if your reasoning for not taking me to bed is because another woman wasn’t satisfied, then that reason is boar shit. You’ve satisfied me plenty with your hands and mouth, you know that. And if to love you means to be pleasured with your hands and mouth for the rest of my life, then know that I will be a very, very happy woman.” 

A chuckle leaves his lips and brushes against her palm as he turns to kiss the tender skin of it, his lips just brushing the meat of her thumb. “You’re starting to sound like Poe.”

“They say you take on the habits of those around you,” she replies, her voice softer now. 

“Then I will eagerly await the day you start sleeping bare, as he does,” Ren replies with a smirk, and she knows the memory of Kara or whoever she was has passed. 

“Are you saying you wish for me to join you in bed?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Innocently, yes. I would enjoy gazing upon your face before I fall to sleep, and I would enjoy holding you as your breath slows and your eyes drift shut. I would enjoy waking up to the both of you,” he admits, and she smiles as he reaches up to take her hand, the one against his cheek. She watches as he turns it over, his dark gaze meeting hers as his plush lips just barely brush against her knuckles. Her breath hitches at the tender touch, so much like Poe’s when she first arrived. The heat that had blossomed then comes back in full force now, and she’s grateful for the darkness of the night around them as she feels her cheeks flame.

“You like this,” he notices, the tip of her pointer finger resting against his lower lip as he’d just kissed her fingers. 

“I do,” she confesses quietly, now sure that even in the dark he can see her pinked cheeks. 

Another chuckle comes from him, a bit darker, this time, as he kisses her fingertip again. This time it’s lingering, not quite so light, and she gasps as she feels the slightest flick of his tongue against the very tip. “Kylo!” 

“You like this,” he repeats, and there’s laughter in his voice as she tries to pull her hand away. “You like having your hands touched.” 

“I like having other places touched as well,” she insists. 

“Where?” 

“You know where,” she protests as he laughs, and she finds herself grinning as well as she reaches up to cup his face and bring him down for a soft kiss. 

She knows of the stories. Of the lovers of the gods, of the resulting chaos and calamity, the pain and destruction lust and desire brought on. Despite the goddess she vowed herself to, she never truly thought that she would feel for a man, or anyone, really. Jakku’s too small, the port too dirty. Once upon a time she might have wondered what it would be like to be swept up by a handsome captain and made his wife, make a living sailing the seas and purchasing riches. But that was a very, very long time ago. 

Never had she imagined being picked up by the Emperor, and being loved so deeply, so thoroughly and so passionately by both him and his consort. 

“I love you.” 

It’s a quiet confession as she presses close, the night breeze cold on her lower back. He must have felt her small shiver, and she sighs as she feels a warm, broad hand on the small of her back, the other coming up to cup her cheek. Her gaze is guided up, and she sees his soft, awed look. “Do you?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“I do,” she promises, smiling. “I do.” 

She laughs as he surges to kiss her passionately, the hand cupping her cheek sliding to the back of her neck, his thumb pressed to her jaw as he dips her slightly and slides his tongue along the seam of her lips. 

“In the orchards? Really?” 

The voice is loud, the words slurred slightly, and the call only makes Rey laugh harder as Ren groans. “How much have you had to drink?” the Emperor calls to his male consort, looking to their right. Rey makes no move to leave his arms, grinning as she watches Poe walk down with Finn’s arm around his waist, the darker man looking significantly more sober than their lover is. 

“Not that much,” Poe insists, but his bright grin says otherwise. “Wouldn’t you two rather a bed? Tree bark and bare skin are not that comfortable, in my experience.” 

“In your experience?” Rey asks, trying and failing to keep the laughter out of her voice as she looks towards the Emperor still holding her tight to his broad chest. 

The groan that falls from his lips is answer enough.

"Come on, let's get these two love birds to a bed!" 

"Let's get you walking straight first, Poe." Rey smirks, leaning into the Emperor. He kisses her temple tenderly as they start to walk towards their inebriated love, his hand warm on her lower back as he guides her along the unsteady ground. 

"I am walking straight!" 

"So you say, my love, so you say," Ren mutters, and Rey laughs again as she pulls him down to kiss his cheek, happier than she can ever remember being.


	10. X.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. The last chapter. Thank you all so much for joining me on this journey. EROS has been one of my favorite stories to write, and I sincerely hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did. I love these three so much, and EROS has inspired me to write a few more stories with them - one a modern AU, and another a zombie apocalypse AU. I would also love to write another historical AU, so if you all have any time period you would love to see, then comment below!  
> Again, thank you thank you thank you for clicking on this story and following it all the way through - it truly means the world to me, and I love you all. Enjoy this very long last finale!

It’s been a year, just about. A year since the Emperor and his men invaded her little island, a year since he frightened her in the temple so badly she fell on her ass. A year since he brought her home, and a year since she met Poe. 

An entire year, she thinks, looking out to the courtyard. She can just see the shadows of the olive trees through the thin curtains, the early morning sun shining through and illuminating the room she now shares with Poe, and the Emperor. 

The Emperor’s consort is still sleeping beside her, a heavy arm draped across her waist, and she smiles as she feels the warmth of his chest against her back. It’s early, much too early for breakfast, too early for even getting up. And so she closes her eyes again against the sunlight, and snuggles back into the arms of her friend and lover, reveling in the softness of the early morning.

She doesn’t know how long she dozes. Time has become more fluid than it ever has before for her, each day counted meticulously back on Jakku. Here, the days blur together, and she’s glad for it. It means she’s happy. It means that she doesn’t have to count her meals or how many ceremonies or cleanings she’s done. It means that, despite her earlier thoughts of her situation, she is free.

She has no desire to open her eyes and face the morning sun, especially not when she’s so comfortable, but thankfully she doesn’t have to. Her eyes are closed, but the sun is still bright even behind her lids. She’s given relief when a shadow, perhaps a cloud, covers the rays, and she sighs at the reprieve before she feels a kiss to her temple. 

“Mm…” It’s a slow, sleepy hum as she reaches down to feel Poe’s hand, his fingers splayed across her bare hip. “I wondered when you were going to wake…”

Belatedly, she realizes that Poe’s breathing is still slow and even, that the thin mattress didn’t shift, and that it wasn’t a cloud that blocked the sun.

Her eyes snap open, and her gaze finds the armor of her Emperor, his broad body blocking her view of the window. The sun streams in from behind him, haloing him like a god emerging from the heavens. Her heart skips a beat, and she grins as she quickly scrambles up to kiss him properly. She can hear his deep, throaty chuckle as his hand finds her bare waist, holding her up as he kisses her back. He smells of sour sweat and sea salt, his voyage of two months finally complete. 

“You’re home,” she breathes, her hand slipping into his hair, the dark locks in desperate need of a wash and his mouth in need of a rinse, his chin and jaw needing a shave. But she can’t bring herself to give a damn, not when the slight uneasiness of her heart finally leaves. It made its home in her chest two months ago, as she watched his ship leave for northern waters, and to have it leave her so suddenly has her feeling breathless with relief.

There’s a smile pressed against her lips, and warmth fills her chest as his hand touches her cheek. It’s significantly more calloused than it was when he touched her and kissed her goodbye, no doubt the result of fighting and perhaps even a bit of rowing himself. Still, she reaches up to clutch his fingers, and turns her face to kiss his palm. Tasting the salt of sea and sweat, she smiles, closing her eyes and nuzzling his hand sweetly. 

“You took longer than expected,” she mutters, pressing another kiss to the meat of his palm before she looks up at him. There’s weariness in his gaze, dark circles beneath his eyes, but he’s home. He’s home, and he’s safe.

Ren hums and bends. She feels his lips against her brow, chapped but warm. “There was a storm along the northwest coast,” he explains. “We stayed on land until it passed.”

“Thank the gods,” Rey breathes. She knows he wouldn’t be so foolish as to insist his men leave when their lives could be at stake, but she’s glad they weren’t caught in it. “And you’re safe? You’re well?”

“I smell like foul sea water and could sleep for three days, but yes, I am well,” he teases, his full lips quirking up in the slightest of smirks before she’s leaning up to kiss him again, caring little for the fact that she’s bare and her chest is revealed to him. 

She can feel the man behind her shifting, hears his grunt of protest at the bright morning light, and grins against Ren’s lips as she waits for Poe to realize his husband is home. It doesn’t take long, a gasp leaving her friend’s lips before the bed is shifting near violently, and she’s pulling away from the Emperor so that Poe can have his turn. 

“You’re back!” Poe exclaims, Rey grinning as his entire face lights up with his bright grin.

“I’m back,” Ren says with a chuckle, his throaty laughter becoming louder as Poe immediately crawls over Rey to throw himself into his husband’s arms. Rey grins, watching as their lips slot together, Poe’s fingers tangling in Ren’s hair. The consort pulls Ren so flush against his bare body that Rey has to wonder if he’s trying to make two become one, and she smirks as she gathers a sheet and wraps it around herself to inquire about food and a bath.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

A yelp slips from her lips as the edges of the sheet are yanked back, and her with it, her feet skidding on the marble floor as she’s forcibly pulled back to bed. Laughing, she feels Poe’s arms wrap around her, his chest not so broad as Ren’s. She can tell the difference between them, now. Whose lips are against hers, whose chest is against her back, whose arms are around her. It’s a skill she never dreamed of honing, but that she has mastered it makes her grin. Poe’s mouth finds her shoulder, and she laughs again as he presses a line of kisses from her neck to the top of her arm. 

“I’m only going to ask about food and a bath,” she protests, one hand holding the sheet to her bare chest and the other clutching Poe’s right wrist. His arms tighten around her like a vice, but she knows if she squirms enough or simply asks, she’ll be let go in a heartbeat. 

“He only just returned, stay and kiss him, won’t you?” Poe asks, sounding like a whining child. “Stay with us?”

“Wouldn’t you much rather kiss and cuddle with him when he doesn’t smell like a rotten fish and when his mouth no longer tastes sour?” Rey insists, trying to look over her shoulder at her lover. 

“She has a fair point,” Ren replies, already reaching to undo his sandals. Rey can see the difference in the color of his skin where the straps were and weren’t, but she can’t tell whether it’s from the sun or simply dirt.

“I would make love to you even if you were covered in mud,” Poe protests.

“That sounds slippery,” Rey says, grinning as she receives a nip to her shoulder for her retort. 

“Fine. Go and fetch food and call for a bath. We’ll spoil him, won’t we?” Poe says. He finally releases her, and Rey wraps the sheet more securely around herself before turning back to see the Emperor and his consort kissing once more. 

The first kiss was desperate, and passionate. This kiss is softer, and sweeter, and she feels her heart warming in her chest as she watches them come together. For a few heartbeats, Poe just holds his husband close, his hands tangled in Ren’s greasy hair as he presses their brows together. Rey smiles before she’s turning to go inquire about food and a bath, crossing across the main room and opening the door to see Finn there, a smile already on his face. 

“He called for it before he even walked in,” the soldier informs her, and she looks back towards the bedroom, the thin curtains and bright sun doing nothing to conceal the silhouette of the Emperor and his consort kissing. 

She’s yanked backwards in her memory to her first day, seeing the two figures beyond the curtain, one tall and one shorter. She remembers the dread, the fear, the anger in her heart as she stood and demanded an explanation, as Poe walked out and introduced himself. 

Now, she feels nothing but love as she keeps her sheet wrapped tightly around herself and looks back to Finn, smiling.

“Thank you,” she says, of the bath and food, and he nods. She sees his gaze shift, and knows he’s watching the Emperor and his consort as well. 

“… I’m glad you came,” he tells her, and she grins. “They were happy before, but they’re happier now. As am I.”

“As am I,” Rey replies, holding the sheet with one hand and reaching out to hold Finn’s with the other. “I never thought I would learn to fight, or that I would have so many friends, but here I am.”

“Friends, and lovers,” Finn teases, his full lips pulling into a grin. 

“And lovers,” Rey adds, laughing as she leans up to kiss his cheek sweetly. “Thank you for being so kind to me.”

“It was easy,” Finn tells her, and she laughs again, hearing footsteps in the bathroom, and hearing water being poured into the bath. She looks back to the bedroom, and sees that they’re just embracing now, Poe’s head resting on his husband’s chest. “You’d better get back to them.”

“Oh, I will, and Ren will explain why he sent me to ask for food and a bath when he’d already called for it,” Rey replies, grinning before she’s walking back across the sitting area and pulling the curtain aside to see Poe locked in Ren’s embrace, his head pillowed against the man’s heart, his armor having been taken off and set aside. The tunic beneath has seen better days, but no doubt Poe wanted to heart his husband’s heart beating after so long of only hearing Rey’s. 

“I see,” Rey teases, dropping the sheet and walking towards her lovers. “You just wanted a moment to yourselves, didn’t you? Sending me away when you’d already called for food and a bath?”

“Did I?” Ren asks, and she can see the genuine confusion in his deep brown eyes as he looks at her. “I might have…”

“You need sleep,” Poe mutters, turning his head to press his lips to Ren’s throat. 

“I do,” Ren agrees. 

“And a bath. And a shave. And food,” Rey continues. 

“Aye, those as well,” the Emperor confesses with a chuckle before he opens his arm to her. “Come her, my sol.”

Poe steps aside so that she may embrace the Emperor, her arms twining up and around his neck as she tucks her face against his chest. His arms wrap around her, and she breathes in sweat and sea to reassure herself that yes, he is here, he is home and he is safe. 

“We missed you,” Poe says, voice as warm as the sun itself, and Rey grins as she feels Ren’s hand rubbing up and down her back, massaging sweetly.  
“And I you,” the Emperor whispers, and Rey hums as she feels the kiss to the top of her head. 

Her heart – well, part of it – is home at last.

-

“I don’t understand how one can consume so much wine and not be acting completely foolish.”

“The wine on the ship was bitter, and strong,” Ren says, taking another sip of the delicate, fruity blend he has in his right hand, his left tracing patterns on Rey’s bare shoulder. “This is sweeter, but weaker.”

“It is still wine,” Poe replies, wiping his hands of the oil he just massaged onto the Emperor’s clean-shaven jawline. 

Rey reaches for some of the cured meat on the nearby platter, grabbing a cluster of grapes as well, smiling as Poe settles onto some cushions across from her and the Emperor. She closes her eyes, tucking herself close to the powerful man and nuzzling him like a needy child. 

“I missed you, too, my sol.”

_My sol._

His hand moves to rub at her back through her loose tunic and she sighs, shifting her legs to keep them on his lap. She had crawled into his arms shortly after he settled on the lounge, and he hadn’t complained, holding her tight. 

“You don’t let me do that,” Poe had protested, but there was laughter in his voice. 

“You are heavier, my love,” Ren had explained, also chuckling as he’d watched Poe fill his cup generously.

“Someone is glad for you to be home.”

“Hm?” Rey hums, knowing that Poe is speaking of her. She opens her eyes and looks towards the man who’s watching her with a smirk and raised eyebrow. “Forgive me for enjoying knowing that our love is safe.”

“You are enjoying more than that, and you know it,” Poe says, pointedly looking to where Ren’s hand has come to cup her hip, palm resting against the outer curve of her ass. 

“She was falling off,” Ren insists. 

“I completely and utterly believe you,” Poe says in a drawl as he rolls his eyes, and Rey grins as she leans up to kiss the Emperor on the smooth skin of his jaw. “We’re almost out of wine.” 

“Shall I go ask for more?” Ren asks as Poe stands.

“No, no, I wouldn’t dare disrupt you from your little … whatever you’re doing,” Poe says, gesturing to the Emperor and his newest consort. Rey grins as Poe grabs the amphora and leaves, no doubt going to speak to Finn, as well. She barely hears the door close before there are warm, plush lips upon hers, and she sighs as her hand slips up into the Emperor’s hair. 

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, as well,” she breathes. “As did Poe. It was difficult prying him from the windows, as he wanted to see your ship in the distance.”

“Forgive my lateness.”

“Your timing was a result of you keeping your men safe,” Rey insists, shaking her head. “There is nothing to forgive.”

She receives another, slower kiss for her words, open-mouthed and languid. A soft and satisfied moan leaves her as he licks at her lower lip, reverent in his worshipping of her mouth. 

“What would you say,” he starts, pulling away and kissing at her jaw instead. She lets her eyes slip closed, his hand sliding up to her waist as he pulls her closer. “What would you say to joining me in bed, tonight?”

Her heart skips a beat, but she reins herself in, sighing as his teeth scrape gently against her pulse point. “To sleep?”

“To love.”

Her eyes snap open, and she pulls back, grinning as his mouth chases her and a whine leaves the great and powerful Emperor at her skin leaving his lips. “You are serious?” she questions, her hand tightening in his hair. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he questions, voice low and dulcet. “I would like to at least try. And if you dislike it, or I do something that is not to your liking, I trust you will tell me, and then I will go, and-“

Her fingers against his lips stop his words, and she waits until he is silent before pulling her hand back and leaning in to kiss him. He remains still, and she pulls back after a moment, her grin softening to something sweeter. 

“If you do something that I dislike, which I doubt you will, I will tell you, and then we will find something I do like. You will not be going anywhere.”

“All right,” Ren replies immediately, and she hums at how simple that was.

“Good.”

“I have more wine!”

Rey snorts at the volume of their lover’s voice, and watches as Ren turns to look at Poe, who’s grinning like a madman. 

“I think you’ve had enough,” Ren drawls as Poe sets the amphora down on the table in front of them.

“Oh, I see, you think I’ve had too much, you don’t consider perhaps I am happy because my husband is home? You don’t think I am excited to kiss him once more? You don’t even contemplate the idea that I love him and my heart is full now that I see him in front of me after two months of not even a glimpse of his face? No, you think I’m drunk,” Poe teases, and Rey grins as Ren reaches for the hem of Poe’s tunic, pulling him until the consort is right beside the Emperor. Within moments, Ren’s pulled Poe’s wrist down, the rest of the man following, and she watches from the perfect vantage point as Ren yanks Poe into a passionate kiss. 

“You taste like wine,” Ren mutters against Poe’s lips, and the consort grins like a fool.

“So do you.”

“So do I, now stop arguing and drink,” Rey insists as she reaches for more grapes, Poe’s chuckle in her ear before she feels his lips on her cheek. 

This, she thinks, laughing at the sloppy kiss. This is how she wants to spend the rest of her life.

-

There will be a party in the next few days, she is told. To honor the gods and to thank them for the safe return of their soldiers, and the Emperor. To celebrate the successful voyage, and that no soldier passed on during their trip. 

A few seasick, but none dead. 

It will be a celebration of epic proportions, of that she’s sure, but for now, she is simply glad to curl up next to Poe and wait for the return of their Emperor, the man due any moment from meeting with his advisors. 

“I think I may join the soldiers in their party tonight.”

“Oh?” Rey asks, lifting her head from Poe’s shoulder, the consort’s fingers rubbing circles against her bare hip through the slit in her chiton. She raises a brow at the man, seeing his smirk. “And why join them instead of us? You haven’t laid with the Emperor in two months, surely you’re wanting.”

“I have it on good authority that I am not the one who will be joining him in bed tonight,” Poe teases, his smirk broadening as she slaps playfully at his thigh. “He told me himself! You should have seen the flush of his cheeks, my love, it was adorable.”

“Shush,” Rey protests, smirking as well as she returns her head to his shoulder, his arm wrapping around her tightly. “And what are you going to do, spend the night in the barracks, curled up to your favorite guard?”

“Perhaps,” Poe muses. “Or I may return here and sleep off the wine that I will have had.”

“Should I be worried about your habits regarding the work of Bacchus?” Rey teases, already knowing she shouldn’t be. The man is happy, and a celebratory drink is fine.

“Of course not,” Poe promises, and she feels a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m fine. The wine of the soldiers is weak and bitter, anyway. Unless someone pilfered the good stuff from the store.”

“I will allow some to be taken. It is, after all, a celebratory night.”

Rey turns to see their Emperor come in from the side, garden, his toga wrapped around him to protect him from the night chill and to assert his power. She smiles as he walks up and into the room, reaching up to run a hand through his dark waves. 

“And with that, I shall take my leave,” Poe says, moving his arm from around Rey. 

Nerves suddenly flutter like the wings of a bird, thumping against her ribcage, and she stares with wide eyes as Poe moves to leave. “So soon? The night is young, still.”

“Indeed it is, but it will be as ancient as the gods themselves by the time he is finished with you,” Poe teases with a wink, grabbing his sandals to tie about his feet. “He takes his time.”

“Poe,” Ren says, a warning in his voice, but when Rey looks, there’s color in his cheeks. Oh, he is adorable when he blushes…

“I’ll be back by the time you wake, I promise,” the consort offers as he grins, lacing the leather up his ankles. “I won’t drink too much.”

“Kiss me,” Ren orders, walking towards his consort as Rey remains on the couch, her legs pulled up beside her. The Emperor’s heavy toga restricts his movement even as he walks across the short distance from one end of the room to the other. He’s not the most graceful man, she knows, but he seems even less graceful when struggling to walk quickly in the heavy fabrics. Rey smiles at the sight, looking out of the other open archway towards the barracks.

“Don’t have too much fun,” she warns, seeing Poe and the Emperor kissing out of the corner of her eye.

“I make no promises, aside from that I will be back in the morn,” Poe replies, pressing one more chaste kiss to Ren’s lips. Rey smiles and tilts her own face up for one as he walks towards her, and she hums as she receives a sweet, almost innocent peck of her own. 

To watch him go means that this is real, that this is well and truly happening. He waves goodbye with all the drama of a theatre actor, and she smirks to hide the nervous feeling in her chest. Why she feels this way, she’s not entirely sure. The Emperor has had his hand between her thighs, has had his mouth between her legs, why would this be any different?

She sees Ren’s silhouette out of the corner of her eye as he slips inside the bathroom. “Forgive me, it was hot in the meeting room, and I wish to cool off,” he says, and she knows that he’s stalling. 

“No forgiveness is needed,” she replies. She can only imagine, in the hot wool of his toga. “I’m patient.”

“Go and wait for me?”

“Of course,” she replies, and she watches him as he nods and goes to cleanse himself. She could do that, too, could put scented oil on, could make herself more presentable than she already made herself hours earlier, having shaved and waxed-

 _Stop,_ she thinks, as she stands, brushing at her chiton. _He doesn’t care._

And he doesn’t, she knows. He’s kissed her and ravaged her when she was covered in dried leaves and bark bits, smelling of sweat and sun from climbing trees all day. He’s had his hand between her thighs after he saw her almost coated in mud. He doesn’t care, she reminds herself as she makes her way into the bedroom, passing through the thin curtains and looking out to the dark sea through the arches on the other side of the bedroom. 

If she walked out and turned left, she may see the dark shadow of her island in the moonlight. But she doesn’t want to look back, not anymore. 

From now on, she is going forward, she thinks, as she undoes the leather belt around her waist, keeping her chiton to her form. She pulls the pins from the fabric, the thin wool falling from her and revealing her to the open air. Pins, belt, and fabric are set aside to be put away after everything is said and done, and she relishes in the cool air against her bare skin.

The doors are open, but she doesn’t care about the chill. The fires aren’t lit in this room, not like the sitting room, so the little she is able to see is cast in white from the moon. She walks to the door open to the back of the property and leans against it, crossing her arms over her bare chest as she looks out over the silver-soaked orchards. The apples are at their best and crunchiest, more sweet than tart in the cool air. But then they will fall, and the leaves will too. She much prefers the winters on the mainland, she finds. Jakku had been cold, ravaged by winter winds and icy water. Winter here was spent next to Poe and Ren, their bodies warming hers, and heated wine upon her lips to keep the cold at bay.

After the heat of the sitting room and Poe’s body next to hers, she’s finds she’s grateful for the cool reprieve of the late night air against her bare skin. She sighs, leaning more against the archway. 

She hears him before she feels him, the soft sound of his bare feet against the marble floors. She’s entirely not surprised to feel his touch to her naked waist, his hands finding her hips and pulling her back into him. She goes willingly, humming at the warmth of his tunic against her back. 

“I wanted to undress you,” he mumbles. 

“Forgive me,” she replies. “You will have other opportunities.”

He moves his mouth to her shoulder, lips against her skin. “Will I?” 

“Mhm,” she hums, closing her eyes as he finds the tender skin of her neck. “You took longer than I thought.” 

“I smelled less than pleasant. The sun was beating in, and my toga was too warm.” 

“I can understand. These days go from warm to chilled quickly. I pray that the celebration of your safe return will be during the day, when it is warmer, or at least within the main hall with lots of fires.”

“I still believe we should honor you, and the anniversary of your arrival,” Ren mutters against the skin just below her ear. “If not for your actions all those months ago, I would be dead.” 

She sighs, leaning back against him. The same could be said for him and the end of her life, she supposes. Though she hasn’t seen the temple, the chunk of marble from her statue is a reminder of what’s become of it. She turns in his arms to kiss him sweetly, feeling the rough wool of his tunic as it brushes against her nipples, already hard from the cold. He wraps his arms around her, tight, and she’s grateful for the warmth of him as he pulls her from the door and into the bedroom. 

For a few moments, the only sounds she can hear are their breathing, their lips against each other’s, and the fire in the next room as it crackles. Shortly after kissing him, she hears the slide of fabric against fabric as he lets her go to pull his dark tunic up and over his head, tossing it to where her chiton is.

Though she’s seen him several times before, she’s still in awe of the size of him. He’s bigger nude, nothing to distract from the size of his shoulders and the scars littering his pale skin. She reaches down to touch the one on his thigh, fingers brushing along his cock briefly before she focuses on the still-slightly-pink mark that could’ve very well gotten infected, or could’ve bled enough to take him from her all those months ago. He looks down to watch him as she strokes the scar. 

“Can you feel it?” Rey asks, recalling the scar on the bottom of her right foot, the result of a sharp shell on the beach of Jakku, and how she can’t feel if she runs her fingers across the skin. “Can you feel my hand?” 

“Somewhat,” he mutters, and out of the corner of her eye she can see his hand move. A moment later it’s on her lower back, holding her close. “It feels strange.”

She pulls her fingers away. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t say it hurt.”

She says nothing as she looks up at him, at the dark gruffness of his voice. He grins, actually grins at her. It’s not often she sees a smile so broad on his handsome face. It makes her smile back as she continues to let her hands roam along his shoulders, pushing him back towards the bed. She laughs as he topples when his knees hit the mattress, falling on top of him. His hands immediately go to her hips to steady her above him, and she bends to kiss him deeply as soon as she’s crawled up a bit to reach him. 

For a split second, she thinks of her fear. Rey thinks of the fear that he would’ve taken her the first night that she arrived, the first night since he declared her his second consort. She wouldn’t have been smiling against his lips, then, wouldn’t have been laughing softly as his hand skirted up her side, her skin ticklish. She wouldn’t have felt warm, comfortable, wanted as he flipped her over, bracing himself over her. She wouldn’t have felt safe, like she does now.

“If I knew you only from your kisses, I would’ve thought you harsher,” she breathes as he presses kisses to her collarbone. “I’ve seen the marks you leave on Poe. The ones you’ve left on me…”

“Not tonight,” he mutters against her jaw. “Unless you want me to fuck you like an animal? Though I am unsure of whether you would like it. I don’t know much of anything regarding a woman, to be entirely honest, if my past is anything to go by.” 

She snorts, shaking her head and reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ear. “Enough of her, and what you have or have not done. Does Poe ask for it?”  
“Begs for it,” the Emperor mutters. “You should watch, sometime.” And then he blinks, thinks about what he’s said. She can see him step backwards in his brain. “Unless you’d rather not.” 

“Gods, yes,” she breathes, reaching up to kiss him so soundly her lips ache. She can feel him laugh against her mouth as she cups the sides of his face, thumbs stroking his high cheekbones as she parts her legs so that he can rest between them. 

“You’d like to watch?” Ren questions once Rey pulls back, sounding confused. 

“You have no idea how tempting your moans are,” she tells him, laughing a bit as she reaches up to tangle her hand in his hair. It needs to be cut, after his voyage– it almost reaches his shoulders, now, but she enjoys the way it moves through her fingers like water, smooth and soft. She also likes the way he closes his eyes as she runs her nails along his scalp, likes the way he hums in soft pleasure. “To be able to hear and not to see has been a curse. To not know what you’re doing to him, what he’s doing to you to hear those moans has been torture of the highest pain.” 

He snorts, leaning into her hand. “Whatever you want, you shall have it. If that means watching us, then so be it.”

She kisses him again, wanting his lips on hers instead of forming words. He obliges, and her hand moves to his upper arm, feeling the hard muscle beneath his skin as he holds himself over her. He tastes like wine much finer and much sweeter than whatever they’d had earlier, no doubt a result of his red-haired general insisting upon the finest during the meeting, and she hums against his mouth before he pulls away to place gentle kisses along her cheek and jawline. 

“Kylo.” 

“Hm?”

“May I call you that, now? Kylo?” she asks as he moves down to her neck and collarbone, open-mouthed kisses that are warm and wet and leave her squirming a bit, eyes closed as she tries to keep a hold of his hair, running her fingers through it. “Poe calls you Kylo.” She’s called him by his first name, too, but for the most part, even in her head, she calls him Ren. Or her Emperor. _Hers._

“It’s my first name, you may use it as you wish,” he explains, kissing the top of her right breast and moving in towards the center of her chest, kissing the skin between them. “Ren is the name I took when I became ruler.”

“Kylo,” Rey repeats, letting his name roll off of her tongue. She opens her eyes as he kisses her right nipple, mouth and body hot against the chill of the bedroom. He’s slow, lavishing the darker skin around the bud in kisses before taking it in his mouth and sucking softly. She hums, running her fingers through his hair again and smiling at the soft pleasure his mouth brings. 

This isn’t between the trees. This isn’t hard, hot, or frenzied. This isn’t in the bath, her nerves skittering like ants beneath her skin. This isn’t even like the throne room, charged and crackling. This is loving, a bit lazy as he sucks her nipple until it’s hard beneath his tongue, releasing her with a soft sound before moving to the other. His mouth lingers above her heart, open and breath hot against her skin.

“I want to worship you,” he breathes, and her heart skips a beat. She wonders if he felt it. 

“Please do.”

There’s a chuckle, deep and throaty as he continues to press kisses to her chest, her hand coming to his shoulder, fingers brushing against the mark he received so long ago, now. 

_Sol._

That was the first time he called her sol. 

His sun. His light. His warmth. She smiles a little, feeling his mouth upon her neck, pressing kisses to her skin over and over like he swore to the gods he would cover her in them. She relishes in the gentle touches, sighing as he lingers against her pulse point.

It takes another few moments of him lavishing the same skin over and over again in kisses and soft nips that she realizes he is worshipping her, yes, but he is also stalling. 

“Kylo,” she says, almost a coo as she cups the back of his neck, guiding his attention back to her eyes. His lips are swollen from kissing, eyes wide and dark and almost fearful. Oh, _Kylo…_

“You’re allowed to kiss elsewhere, you know,” she teases, smirking a bit. 

He stares at her before a chuckle leaves him, deep and throaty. “Of course,” he says, moving up onto his hands so that he may crawl down her body, his lips leaving blazing trails as he kisses between her breasts, down her stomach, nose just barely dipping into her navel. “Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” she reassures as he moves to settle between her legs. This is far from even the second time they’ve done this – she remembers their first in the throne room well, and even uses it to relieve some need, when Poe is with him and she is left outside. But the sight of the Emperor between her legs like a priest worshipping a goddess never fails to take her breath away. 

She knows it is more fashionable for the men to have cropped hair, like Poe’s messy curls or Finn’s neat and close cut, but she finds she much prefers the long hair the Emperor wears. It’s easier to hold, to tug slightly, like she does so often just to hear the low, guttural moan he gives at the hint of pain. 

She likes the way it slips through her fingers like the water, too, and likes holding it to guide him to her cunt. He obeys – the Emperor of all of Rome obeys her wordless order, his mouth slipping against her. It makes her blood boil hotter, and she sighs as he licks at her with the flat of his tongue, a long and broad stroke to warm her up. She can feel his hands come to her hips, one moving to spread flat across her pubic bone and the other shifting to hold her thigh, guiding her leg over his shoulder. 

“I love your mouth,” she breathes, and she gasps as she feels the buzz of his chuckle against her folds. 

“So does Poe,” Ren replies matter-of-factly, and she has to grin as she reaches down to cup his cheek.

“I know,” she replies, smirking as she recalls walking in on them one day, thinking the bedroom was empty and searching for a beloved pin. Oh, but that was a sight, to see Poe spread out like a wanton maiden with the Emperor sucking his cock. She didn’t stay long enough to see if Poe returned the favor.  
She wonders if she will be able to taste the Emperor himself, one day. 

Her thoughts blur as he swirls his tongue around her clit, his thick fingers stroking up and down her slit. Of course, she thinks, he has to prepare her. Poe gave her that much information, at least, telling her that the Emperor – no, Kylo – will have to stretch her so that it does not hurt. 

He doesn’t slip inside of her, though, not yet. She feels his fingers come to her hip instead, damp with her own slickness. She’s surprised she likes it, likes the feeling of his damp fingers against her skin. She doesn’t get much more time to dwell on it, though, before his tongue is slipping inside of her and she’s gasping. 

“Kylo!”

Oh, but she loves the way his name rolls off of her tongue, the hard ‘K’ and the bright ‘lo’ that follows. It’s a beautiful name to cry in pleasure, and she repeats it as she feels his thumb brush against her pubic bone, the hair shaven from her skin in preparation for the act. 

He says nothing, but of course he doesn’t. She can feel his nose against her clit, his tongue inside of her, and when she looks down between her legs, she finds he is watching her. His eyes are dark and determined as he guides her other leg over his shoulder, her heels digging into the taut muscles of his broad shoulders. She’s not unfamiliar with his face between her legs, certainly not, and she prays to any god who is listening to their passion that she will be treated to the sight for years and years to come. 

And, she adds to the prayer, may she see it often. 

Perhaps it is the excitement, she thinks, as his mouth leaves her cunt and instead latches onto the tender skin between her hip and her groin. His fingers replace his tongue, much thicker and much firmer, and she sighs before she yelps, his teeth digging into her skin. “Kylo!”

There’s a dark chuckle against her, and she looks down with wide-eyes to see that he is in the process of marking her skin. She knows quite well that she will feel it every time she walks, knows that he likes to mark that spot on Poe, too. 

So it has begun…

For a year, she has felt below Poe. Not in rank, no, and not in love from the Emperor, she knows he loves them both equally, if not differently. But for a year she has watched her friend and lover be marked up, has heard him be fucked and loved, and has had to imagine whatever pleasure he’s been given. She’s been the recipient of some herself, sure, but not like this. 

Not like the consort of the Emperor. 

This … this is new. And she feels something burst in her chest, giddiness that she has finally been accepted after all these months making her heart soar before there’s another nip and she yelps before she laughs. 

“If you want me to stop, then tell me so,” Kylo growls, even though his tone is kind. 

“Never,” she breathes, the word coming from her lips before she could even think. “Give me all you are.”

All he is. An Emperor. A lover. A husband. A man.

Hers, she thinks. He is hers  
.  
And Poe’s, but that’s a given.

The fingers inside of her stretch, preparing her for what is to come. She’s seen his cock before, held it in her hand a few times, now, and she knows he is in no way small. In the dark of night, she’s wondered how in the gods name he will fit, but when voicing her concerns to Poe, the man had just laughed. 

“He can fit in me,” he’d said, winking as he reached for another bunch of grapes. “He will fit in you.”

She keens as there’s a suck to her clit, a gentle thing, but her reaction was all the Emperor needed. His next suck is harder, and makes her see stars as her hands clench in his hair and against the linen sheets. She bucks her hips, and gasps as he presses her down almost forcefully, the heat and pressure of his hand grounding her as her toes curl.

“Kylo…”

Her release sweeps through her like a sea storm, powerful and completely overwhelming with crashing waves and wetness. She can feel his chuckle against her before he pulls back, his mouth and nose and chin slick with her. She’s still reeling from the pleasure of it, cunt tingling and toes just uncurling as he climbs up her body to kiss her, soft and sweet. She can taste herself on his tongue, has told him time and time again that no, he does not need to go rinse his mouth, no, don’t wipe his face, she doesn’t care. And he’s caught on, finally, she thinks as she feels the hard, hot length of his cock against her inner thigh. Her legs are still around his shoulders, and she feels the stretch of the muscles in the backs of her thighs, delicious and burning in the best way as she feels herself open to him. 

But then he is guiding her legs down, and she whimpers, her hands coming to his shoulders, one slipping up and into his hair as he stares down at her.  
He takes her whimper for one of uncertainty, of pain, and pulls back. She misses the warmth of him immediately, and sits up on her elbows, trying to get closer, trying to bring him back. 

“We don’t have to do this.”

“I want to do this,” she insists, almost a hiss as she reaches for him again, cupping his cheek. “You misunderstood, love, I liked my legs over your shoulders.”

“You did?” he asks, and it’s almost childish, the way he blinks at her in complete and utter confusion, like he’s surprised he did something right when it came to actually starting something more than just hands and mouths. 

“Yes,” she says with a laugh, her legs coming up and wrapping around his waist as she clings to him. “Yes, it felt good. But this feels nice, too.”

Yes, this does feel nice. She can feel the warmth of him, the strength in the body over her without the burning sensation in her thighs, as delicious as that was. Plus this is more intimate, she feels, to be wrapped around the man she swore she’d never love so long ago.

“Why do I love you?” 

The question falls from her lips before she can stop it, but it’s a valid question all the same as she looks up at the Emperor, stroking his dark hair from his face even though it falls right back a heartbeat later. He looks down at her, eyes wide with surprise and mouth parted ever so prettily. She smiles a little, tucking a silky wave behind one of his adorably large ears. 

“You took me from the only home I’d ever known, forcefully,” she explains. “Declared me as your lover. Poe could’ve easily hated me and made my life miserable, and would’ve been entirely justified in his reasoning. You were coarse, and unkind. And yet I risk my life for yours, and find I miss you when you are gone, and I am willing to scream from the top of a mountain that I love you more than words can say. Why?” 

It’s a rhetorical question, she supposes. She isn’t expecting an answer. But she has to tell him. She has to tell him that she loves him, even though she doesn’t know why. Even though she doesn’t know if she’ll ever know why. But he has to know.

For a moment, she can only hear her own heartbeat and their breathing as he stares down at her. One blink, then another. And then he’s shaking his head. “I do not know.”

She doesn’t either, and she isn’t going to go on some journey looking for an answer. But she pulls him into another kiss, and moans as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her flush against him. She gasps as he lifts her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he kneels with her sitting on his thighs, feeling him against her inner thigh yet again. She looks down, and her breath hitches in her throat as she sees his leaking head against her skin. To imagine it is one thing, but to see it is another entirely, and she’s almost ashamed at how much heat rushes through her body and down to her cunt, her mouth parted a little in an awed and aroused gasp.

"Rey." 

Her breath catches in her throat as he speaks, voice low and almost gruff. “Hm?” she asks, trying to find his eyes in the dark and failing as he moves his mouth to her neck. 

“Tell me that you want me,” he mumbles against her skin, breath hot. “Tell me you want me inside of you.”

“I want you inside of me,” she pleads, feeling a smile start to spread across her lips as she lifts her hips up, as she moves ever so slightly so that maybe, just maybe, she can guide him into-

“I need to hold it, first.”

Ah, her plan foiled. She can hear the amusement in his voice as she looks down at where his cock is still against her thigh, and she feels his hand slide up her back, his arm wrapping around her to hold her hip as his hand comes to the base of his cock. “I know very little of how this works,” she confesses. “Poe has been somehow both incredibly detailed, and incredibly vague in his answers.”

“I’m not surprised,” Kylo replies with a chuckle. “Lift your hips for me, my sol.”

She does as asked, and she watches as he grasps his cock, guiding it against her. It takes a moment for the head to catch in her slit, and when it does she inhales sharply at the pressure. 

“Do I need to stop, did I hurt you?” 

The words fall from his lips in a panicked gasp, and she immediately moves to slot her lips against his, trying to assuage whatever concerns he has about hurting her or their lovemaking not being satisfying enough. 

“I’m fine,” she insists, smiling against his mouth as she clings to him. “This is not the position I imagined us in, but-“

“We can move-“

“But,” she insists, emphasizing the word, bracing her brow against her poor, nervous Emperor’s as her arms tighten around his neck and she lets him see her smile. “I like you holding me. I feel safe.”

“You feel safe,” Kylo repeats, as though reassuring himself. “Good, that’s … that’s good.”

“May I move?”

“Gods, yes.”

She laughs a little as she sinks her hips onto him, going at her own pace. His fingers clench along her back, and she hums as she watches him slip inside of her. It’s … it’s not as bad as she thought it would be. Poe had warned her it may stretch, it may burn, but it isn’t too bad. Yes, it is foreign, and yes, it is strange, but she likes it, likes the intimacy of sharing breath with the man who is currently inside of her – oh, isn’t that an odd thought? He is inside of her in a new way…

And, perhaps, after tonight, if the gods decide to bless them, she will have an heir to the empire inside of her.

She only notices after a few moments that she is apparently not moving fast enough for him, because his hand is in a fist against her back, and he is staring very pointedly at her collarbones. She breathes slowly, looking down and realizing that he is perhaps halfway inside of her, and yet she feels so full. 

“Give me a moment,” she begs quietly. “I am not doing this to torture you, I swear it.”

“I wasn’t suggesting anything of the sort,” he says, sounding strangled, and she leans in to kiss him sweetly, her hand stroking his hair before she feels the world shift and she is once again on her back, her head cushioned by the pillows at the top of the bed, her Emperor’s body caging her in. Her legs are still wrapped around her waist, but in the shifting, he has slipped more deeply inside of her, and she gasps at the sensation. 

“Forgive me,” he pleads, eyes wide as he stares down at her in what looks like horror. “Rey, I-“

“Sh,” she shushes, reaching to press her fingers to his lips. This poor man, at the height of his power, an Emperor, scared because of one damned woman… “I’m fine, truly. It feels good.”

Well, no, it doesn’t feel good yet, but she has been told it will, and she knows that if it didn’t feel good, then there would be no poems or songs or stories about lovemaking. It has to feel good. It has to.

He is shaking, she can feel it as he leans in to press a kiss to her lips, almost chaste compared to the rest he’s given her. She takes it gladly, and sighs as she feels him move one more time, feels the dark hair against her skin, feels the warmth of him against her. 

He is inside her, fully, and oh, gods, does she feel full.

“Give me a moment,” she begs again, her hand coming to cup the back of his head as he bends to tuck his face against her neck. 

“I am waiting,” he breathes. “Poe was worse.”

“Was he?” she asks, laughing. 

“I couldn’t move for several moments the first time we made love. I had to wonder if he would ever allow me to move at all, even if it was to simply pull out. We were young, and he knew more than I did, but he was still not as prepared as he should have been.”

“You obviously know better,” she says, gasping as he shifts his hips just the slightest bit, no doubt by accident. And she surprises even herself with the moan that falls from her. 

“May I?” he asks immediately. 

“Yes,” she breathes, and then she is gasping again as he pulls out and snaps his hips forward. 

Oh, so this is what it is like…

There is no pain, only delicious pleasure as she feels him panting against her neck, hears the wind outside as it rustles the curtains. A cool breeze slips through and warms her heated skin, and she sighs before she cries out, something inside of her thrumming with pleasure. 

“What, what is it, are you all right?!” 

“Do that again!”

He obeys, and she moans, her nails sinking into the smooth skin of his shoulder as she feels him shift his weight onto one arm, the other hand moving between them. “What are you doing?” she asks, but within seconds she knows as there is a thumb against her clit, rubbing the way he has learned she likes. 

“A recommendation from our lover,” the Emperor confesses, and she will have to thank Poe in the best way she can imagine come morning, because between the pleasure of the Emperor’s cock, and the pleasure of his thumb on her clit, she feels like the sungod’s bowstring pulled back tight, ready to snap. 

“Oh, gods,” she breathes, her nails raking down her lover’s back. She will bear marks, and so will he, she thinks as she lets her eyes slip closed, feeling his hot breath upon her bare skin. She receives a hot and sloppy kiss seconds later, and she gives as much as she is given, clinging to the man she’s fallen in love with as her legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper into her. 

His confidence seems to build with every sharp thrust he makes, and she hears a low, guttural moan from the Emperor between her legs. His hips stutter, and she feels heat before the bow is released, the arrow meeting the target as she arches and cries out something she guesses could be his name. 

For a few heartbeats, she just relishes in the intimacy of it. Her heartbeat is quick in her chest, powerful and beating like a drum, loud to her ears. She wonders, briefly, if the man in her arms can hear it as she can. Her eyes remain closed as she tries to steady her breath, tries to memorize the warmth surrounding her. 

“Rey…”

There are lips against her jaw, and she sighs, her mouth parting a little as she feels him press kisses to her jaw, to her cheek, to the corner of her mouth.  
“Rey, are you all right?”

There is a hand upon her cheek, and she hums, blinking up at the man she loves (well, one of them) as he strokes her skin, trying to get her to return from whatever heaven she just soared to. 

She smiles, sated and more than a little happy as she nods, leaning up to kiss him sweetly. “Mhm,” she hums. 

“… no running into the forest?”

It’s a joke, she knows – a poor one, sure, but a joke to cover up the trembling in his voice. She tries to answer by kissing him over and over again, soft and almost innocent. 

“Why would I run off into the forest when I am unsure I will be able to convince myself to leave this bed?” she asks, running her hand through his hair, her skin sticky with sweat. She can feel him inside of her, still, and she sighs as she lets her head fall back against the cushions. “What are you thinking, my love?”

“I am thinking that I love you.”

“What a coincidence, I was just thinking the same thing about you,” she teases, and is rewarded with another kiss to her lips. 

Compared to the frantic, passionate lovemaking on the throne and in the orchards, this is slow and languid, almost sleepy as she feels him slip out of her a few moments later, now soft. Her eyes remain closed as she feels him shift, her arms stretching out and over her head. 

“Beautiful…”

“Mm?” she asks, opening her eyes a little to see the dark shadow of him at the end of the bed, obscured in darkness from a wall in the way of the moon’s silver light.

“My seed, spilling from you.”

“I hope not too much is spilled, an heir is expected of me,” she says, reaching to brush her hair back from her face as she hears water, the soft sound of something in a metal basin. 

“Perhaps soon, but no one is expecting it after one night,” Kylo explains, amusement in his voice. She feels a cool, wet cloth on her thigh, and she sighs at the relief that it brings. “Does that feel good, my sol?”

“Yes,” she replies, but then she startles as there is a crash from the room beyond. Within seconds, the Emperor has his hand on a nearby blade, bare skin still shining with his and her release as he positions himself to fight.

“It’s me!” 

A laugh bubbles up her throat as she hears the voice of the Emperor’s male consort, and she smiles as Kylo huffs, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. 

“Did you forget something?” the Emperor calls, pretending to sound annoyed, but she can hear the amusement in his voice. 

In hindsight, she supposes, they shouldn’t have sent Poe away. Of course he would come back and check on them, because it’s Poe. They shouldn’t have excluded him from this, because they are not three different couples, no. It is not her and Poe, and her and Ren, and Ren and Poe. No, it is the three of them, and to be separated makes it seem as though something – or someone – is missing. 

She can’t help the burst of warmth in her chest as Poe walks through the curtains, his smile bright and beaming. There’s that same surge of warmth as she watches Kylo set the blade aside and pull his husband in for a tender kiss, his groin still shining with release. And it happens a third time as Poe crawls up onto the bed to join her, his hand coming to cup her cheek as he kisses her, no questions asked of whether she enjoyed herself, of whether it was good. She has the feeling he already knows. 

Perhaps one day, she thinks, they will all be consorts of each other. An Emperor needs an Empress, after all, someone to carry his heir. She knows she will be his wife, eventually. And, whether in writing or in heart only, Poe will be her consort, too. 

Either way, she knows it will be the three of them. 

And she wonders if it is possible to be this gloriously happy for the rest of eternity.


	11. XI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all asked for more, so here's 1/2 epilogues! This one is just Poe and Rey. I'm assuming you can guess what the final epilogue will be. ;) Hope you enjoy! It's a bit shorter, since there's no more plot to explore.

Considering the weather, it’s a downright horrible day. 

The sky is grey with Zeus’s anger, the rain coming down in sheets. Just yesterday she’d spent hours in the orchard, the cool breeze of fall tickling her skin where her woolen palla didn’t reach. She would climb the trees, and then have Finn toss her palla up to her to shield her from the wind. A favorite past time, now, looking out over the land her love rules over. That, and eating the apples that come from the trees. 

Today, though, it is colder. The archways that lead into the garden are open, the curtains drawn back to allow her to watch the raindrops splatter against the marble stepping tiles. Where yesterday she’d been elated, grinning from ear to ear with the sun on her skin and apple juice on her chin, today is calmer, her mind and heart at peace as she watches the water fall from the sky. 

“A muddy mess this will make of the training grounds!” 

She sits up a little, looking over and seeing Poe coming in from the hall, the door slamming behind him as he grins and approaches her with swollen lips. “I thought Kylo had a meeting?” she asks, frowning as he comes over and bends to kiss her, the kiss almost childish in its quickness and innocence. 

“Indeed, he did,” Poe exclaims, settling down into a couch surrounded by silk cushions. He reaches for a nearby wool blanket, deep blue in color, a masterpiece in terms of craft. Rey watches as he brings it over his shoulders, the man grinning like a fool. “He had a meeting with me.”

That explains the grin and swollen lips, then. Rey smirks and pulls her legs up, wrapping her arms around her knees and watching the rain fall outside. She hears the sound of leather against marble, sees blue out of the corner of her eye, and then there is a finger tucked beneath her chin and lips on hers. She smiles against her lover’s mouth, moving her lips with his before pulling back with a gentle smack. 

“You taste of him,” she whispers, Poe’s tongue bitter. 

“And he of me,” Poe replies with a smirk, and she laughs before leaning in to kiss him again.

There is something about being with him, and the rain. Both calm her like nothing else can. Kylo is wonderful, yes, and she adores him greatly, but there is rarely calm with him. There is heat, and if not that there is warmth. But to be with Poe is to drink cool spring water on a hot summer day. It is to curl up in the shade of a tree and admire the rolling waves of the sea. Kylo is to sit bare on the beach, letting the sun tan her skin, and he is the excitement that comes from winning a sparring match. 

Perhaps that is why she loves them both so well. If they were too similar, she would be compelled to pick only one, but they are different, and her heart adores them both equally and separately. 

She feels Poe come behind her, curling up around her. He’s protective, that she’s noticed. He frets over the slightest scratch, over the smallest bruise when she comes back from sparring matches. Kylo is concerned, too, but in the way that he looks at her, and in the way his lips linger on the mark. Poe reminds her of a mother, insisting upon putting salves and oils on it before insisting upon seeing what other hurts she has. 

Rey indulges in leaning against her love, humming as his arms come around her. Her gaze remains on the falling rain outside, the thunder loud and close. The flashes of lightning illuminate the poor little drowned olive trees in the gardens, there more for decoration than for bearing fruit. She’s seen men trimming them, ensuring they don’t grow too large. 

“If he had a meeting with you, then where is he now?” she asks, resting her head back against Poe’s shoulder and feeling his hand rest against her thigh, her legs still brought up and knees bent. His thumb finds where the two sections of her chiton don’t quite meet, and strokes sweetly as he kisses the side of her head. 

“With the General,” he mutters. “They’re speaking of military preparations.”

“Are we concerned about war?”

“No, but there are always battles to be fought, whether they are verbal or physical, and whether they are small or large.”

“You’ve become a great thinker,” Rey teases. “I would not call skirmishes small battles, or spoken confrontations verbal battles.”

“It depends on who has won,” Poe replies with a chuckle. “If you won a fight, it would be much more satisfying to say you won a small battle than saying you won a skirmish.”

“Mm, fair,” she hums, closing her eyes and relaxing against the strength of his chest, feeling his hand slip further beneath her chiton. She smiles, but says nothing as it roams closer and closer to her cunt, slow but certain in its path. 

It’s only until the man brushes his thumb along the shaved skin of her mound that she finally acknowledges his touch. “Poe…”

“Mhm?”

“Didn’t you just have the Emperor in your mouth?”

“I did.” It’s a coo, his voice sweet as he dips his thumb along her lips. His hands are not so calloused as Kylo’s. Poe fights and trains, to be sure, but not as much as Kylo does. He prefers running to sparring, even though he picks up a blade occasionally.

“Insatiable man,” Rey teases even as she sighs and closes her eyes, resting her head back against him as his fore and middle finger move in slow, lazy circles around her clit, before dipping back down. It’s a rhythm, soon. Circle, circle, down, up. Circle, circle, down, up. It’s teasing, how slowly he makes his music, when all she wants to do is sing. 

It goes on for a while, the rain falling more heavily and the storm coming closer to where they are. She counts the beats between the thunder and the lightning, humming as they grow closer. Still, as the storm brews on, Poe's hand continues its gentle rhythm, even as she wriggles her hips a little in an attempt to hint for _more._

“Mm, Poe?” she hums, gods know how long after they started this. She's hot and fidgety, and he seems to realize this. Of course, the more playful of her two lovers, he doesn't indulge her, continuing the same damn rhythm he's been using.

“Yes, my love?” She can hear the mirth in his voice.

“If you don’t go faster, or harder, I am calling for Kylo.”

It’s a teasing threat, but one he takes seriously as he chuckles. She can feel the sound against her back, the darkness of her lids illuminating briefly as lightning flashes. “You are a fiend.”

“Says the man who refuses to touch me properly.”

“I am touching you properly!” Poe insists, slipping two fingers inside of her at once, and she gasps at how easily the slide is. Oh, but she’s _soaked,_ just from his slight touches. Perhaps there is a method to his madness…

She’s never liked slow. She recalls the Emperor between her legs, her ass upon the cool marble of his throne. She remembers asking him to go faster, to go harder, to give her what she yearned for immediately. But she was younger, then, and eager, and now, as Poe continues his slow rhythm – now circle, circle, down, in, out, up – she can almost understand what it means to wait. 

There’s a warmth to his touch as he kisses her temple. Her eyes remain closed, and occasionally between the dark colors she will see a flash. Thunder cracks overhead, and she sighs as he speeds up just the slightest bit, his fingers lingering inside of her and grazing against that spot inside of her both men love to abuse. 

Her hips roll, and she moans lowly as his teeth just barely graze her temple. “Poe…” It’s a low sound as her arm reaches up and behind her head, finding dark curls with her fingertips. Her fingers sink in, thumb brushing against his ear, and she hears a soft, almost growl as she tugs on the dark strands. 

“Rey.”

It sounds more like it should come from their lover, a beast of a man, than Poe. Poe has always been flirty, but gentle. Kind, and soft, and loving, but as his rhythm quickens and drops steps, his fingers remaining inside her and thumb still on her clit, he reminds her of the Emperor. His other hand is gripping her hip, having slipped beneath the silk of her chiton, and she wonders briefly if she will have bruises. 

She hopes she will. 

She hopes she can show them off. 

She hopes she can show them off to the Emperor. 

She hopes his eyes will darken, and that he will move to make marks of his own. 

Her orgasm cracks like thunder, a steadily rolling thing that suddenly breaks. Her toes curl against the cushions of the couch, her back arching a little, Poe’s fingers moving faster and faster in an attempt to make her last as long as possible. She can feel the snap of a few strands beneath her strong hold, and wonders if she’s hurting him. She lets go, just a little, as her hips chase his hand in search of more brilliant release. 

She registers his hand leaving her soon after, and she whines at the loss. “Poe-“ she starts, but then she’s interrupted.

“I was thinking,” he says, with some urgency, and she frowns as warmth continues to flow through her, her bones feeling weak and hand still in his hair.

“Yes?” she asks.

“Now that the Emperor has had you, and claimed you for his own, we are welcome to…”

He trails off, but she fills in his words for him with a laugh, bright and happy.

“You truly are insatiable!” she teases. She can feel his cock against her back, hard and wanting, and she knows she’s right. The man is the definition of insatiable, but she just grins and moves, sitting up and turning around. She bunches her chiton up around her waist, but then Poe is knocking her hands away.

“I am going to see you properly, if I am taking you,” he insists, his hands finding the knot of the leather belt about her waist. 

She reaches for his tunic, grinning as he raises his ass just enough to let her pull it up. “And I will see you,” she says, everything warm and sweet despite the cool air surrounding them. 

She’s wet. She can feel it against her thighs, and knows that if Kylo were here, he would waste no time in slotting his mouth against her and drinking like a man dying. But Poe is not Kylo, and instead of indulging in her lower lips, he indulges in the ones beneath her nose, kissing her deeply as he finally gets the belt undone and then reaches up to pull the pins from her shoulders. His arm wraps around her, and he yanks her to him. 

Rey can’t help but smile against his lips as the chiton falls and is quickly tossed aside. She breaks the kiss only to guide his tunic over his head, and then she’s back in his arms, wrapped tight around her as she kisses him deeply. The man is hairless, as the Emperor is, but she’s seen him in between shaving and waxing. She knows he is capable of growing dark stubble, even though the skin now is smooth, and she partially wishes she could feel it against her as she presses against him. 

His arms are not quite as big as Kylo’s, chest not quite so broad. Their lover is built like a mountain, strong and unmovable. She doesn’t know what Poe is. But he is softer, smaller. Still, she feels no less safe or loved in his arms as she straddles him and feels his cock against her stomach. 

“He will be disappointed he didn’t get to see,” she mutters against his lips, seeing silver lightning flash against golden skin out of the corner of her eye.

“He will get plenty of other shows, my love.”

Rey smiles, kissing him once more as bright silver light illuminates the room.

She remembers the night it stormed, when Kylo was still healing and they were still reeling from nearly losing him. When they discussed their future without him, should they ever be cursed with such a thing. When they held each other close and just felt each other’s heartbeats, reassuring themselves that they were all fine, they were all alive, they were all complete.

“We have an affinity for loving during storms,” Poe mutters, and she laughs, shifting her hips back and raising up on her knees, feeling his hand between them to guide his cock into her. 

“It seems we do,” she whispers. “Let’s try in bright sunlight, next time?”

“I heard you liked public displays,” he teases, and she feels the hot head of him up against her entrance. It felt so foreign and strange, before, and after her second time with Kylo, she dwelled on the fact that he was inside of her for a handful of moments. Or, at least until Kylo turned and kissed her, and told her he could hear her brain grinding like a mortar and pestle, working the thoughts over and over to a pulp. 

“And if I do?” Rey asks, grinning as his hand comes to her hip, holding her steady as he slides inside of her. “Oh…”

“Tell me if I need to stop, my love.”

She says nothing. She just listens to their breathing as he guides her to sink down onto him. Kylo stretches her in all the right places, to be sure. And there is something good about being stretched. But there is also something about something fitting perfectly, and she sighs as she wraps her arms around Poe’s shoulders, her brow braced against his as she feels him. He’s not quite as big as their lover is. Kylo is a mountain. Poe … 

She still doesn’t know what Poe is.

Something warm, she knows, as he holds her tight and guides her down all the way. Something soft, she thinks, as his hand roams up and down her bare back, the other on her hip, his thumb tracing circles. Something gentle. Something sweet.

It comes to her as his arms shift and move.

Poe is a tree. A tree with gentle green leaves, with steady branches that hold her tight and safe. With just enough height to be thrilling, but with enough strength to support her. Green leaves that filter the warm summer breeze just right, and keep her skin protected from the sun. He holds her. He protects her. And he lifts her up, he always has, even when she fought him all that time ago. 

She smiles against his lips at her realization, and feels him smile back. And then she hears a shaky breath, and then hears a soft laugh, the sound warm against her lips. 

“What do you laugh about?” she questions, her hand moving up and through his hair. They’ll move in a moment, she knows, her body wanting the friction, the heat, but her heart is satisfied with just feeling him in her, around her, beneath her. He fills her perfectly, even without the stretch their Emperor gives her, and she wonders what she did in favor of Aphrodite to be given two men who are completely and utterly _perfect_ for her. 

She must have done something right, somehow, somewhere, somewhen.

Poe's lips chase her thoughts from her as he brushes his mouth against hers. “It’s been years since I felt the heat of a woman. I forgot how fantastic it was.”

Her soft, sweet smile brightens into a grin, and she kisses him again so that she can feel the buzz of his moan against her lips when she rocks her hips.   
“You think I’m fantastic?” she asks, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and her other hand in his hair, his face tipped up to hers. 

“I think you’re magnificent, in all ways,” he confesses, his grin almost fiendish. 

She laughs as she moves her hips again, the sound trailing off into a moan as he brushes against that delicious, wonderful part of her. 

That is the difference between them, she thinks. Kylo worships her like a goddess, his lips brushing every part of her before he even considers loving her. With Poe, there’s no formality with it. He slipped his fingers inside of her, and then she climbed into his lap, and here they are, their moans drowned out by thunderclaps and the creaking wood of the couch beneath them. She’s sure he’ll worship her later, his lips against her breasts, and mouth against her cunt. But for now she indulges in him, her hands slipping across warm skin to feel taut muscle. 

His hand creeps between them, and she gasps at the jolt the touch to her clit gives her. A little mewl leaves her, and then her lips are captured at once, Poe’s growl almost animalistic against her mouth. 

“Do that again.”

“Do what?”

“That _sound.”_

She tries to replicate it, and apparently succeeds, because all of a sudden she is on her back, her legs wrapped around his waist and his cock even deeper inside of her. She gasps as he picks up a rhythm, fast and hard and damn near overwhelming with the combination of the cacophony around them. Rain and thunder and wind and creaking and skin against skin, her moans and his groans. Her nails dig into his shoulders, scratching marks into his golden flesh, and her heels dig into his hips as his fingers bruise her own. 

They will both be marked, and they will both pay the price, she knows. There is no way they can cover up what they’ve done without their lover, but she hopes that his punishment will be lenient, and involve the both of them. And preferably a bed.

His hand snakes between them again, and she cries out as his thumb abuses the little bud that sends lightning through her veins. Her nails dig deeper, and she wonders if he bleeds as his lips find hers.

The couch sounds like it’s about to break as she releases, her body arching up and into his as she kisses him with all she is and all she has. The hand not on his shoulder is cupping the back of his neck, holding him to her as she feels her body thrum like the lyres the musicians play at all the parties. For all the cold of the rain and the room, she swears she’s never felt warmer, or safer, with one of her two loves above her and kissing her back just as fiercely. 

He leaves her too soon, and she gasps, reaching for him, but he doesn’t go far. He goes far enough to pull out, though, and she’s almost ashamed at the needy whimper she gives as he strokes himself once, twice, and then comes across her stomach. 

It’s a mess, truly, hot and his, and she watches as he paints her skin. She wonders if she should be disgusted by the mess he’s made of her, but she just watches in awe, before there are hands on her cheeks and she’s being kissed again.

“Forgive me,” he begs.

“What for?” she questions, frowning. 

“You need to bear his heir, not mine.”

Oh. Right. That … that is an issue she did not consider. But, she supposes, if the worst were to happen, there is always lying. They all have similar coloring. Dark hair, dark eyes. Poe’s skin is darker, but hers browns in the sun. She could say her mother or her father had darker skin. They … they would find a way. Somehow. 

But that he thought about that in the moment has her stilling, sighing as she closes her eyes and brings him close for another kiss. 

“You are truly insatiable.”

Kylo’s voice is followed by a clap of thunder loud enough to startle her and Poe apart, and in the warm light of the room she can see their Emperor stepping through the door, wrapped in a proper toga. He is staring at them in something like exasperation, eyes dark and hard, and she wonders for a moment if they’ve truly done something wrong, if there were risks they didn’t truly consider, if they shouldn’t have-

“I had you not an hour ago.”

“Yes, but your mouth is different. I find I quite like Rey’s cunt,” Poe says, and she reaches up to smack his shoulder for speaking so crudely, and about her.

But their Emperor merely smiles. It’s a small thing, but there is enough warmth in it to sate her as he comes forward and bends to kiss her. She’s still lying down on the couch, her hair splayed out above her, and she kisses him once before he kneels beside her to kiss her more comfortably. 

A large hand slips into her hair, and Rey hums, closing her eyes as he presses kisses to her brow, to her nose, to her cheeks. Reverent. Worshipping, as always. 

“Did you enjoy him?” 

“I did,” she answers truthfully. 

“He made a mess of you.”

“A beautiful mess,” Poe defends, and then she’s being kissed by someone who has more scruff, whose lips are slightly thinner, and she smiles at the thumb rubbing her temple, more calloused than Poe’s. 

A beautiful mess they are, indeed, she thinks, as she feels a cool cloth against her stomach, cleaning her. But gods, does she love both of them.


End file.
